


The Best of Friends

by PenguinofProse



Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Best friends to enemies to spouses to lovers, Canon divergence: episode 7.13, Child of our Time reincarnated, F/M, Fix-it fic, Friends to Lovers, bed sharing, bellarke as parents, but taking the long way round, eventually, fixing season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Fix-it fic for season seven. An arranged marriage, Indra leading Wonkru, and a whole heap of angst. Parenthood, bed sharing, and eventual smut ahead.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927285
Comments: 268
Kudos: 267





	1. I've certainly dreamed of this before now.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a new multi-chapter. It picks up at the start of 7.13 and attempts to fix some of the disasters of season seven - things will get angstier before they get fluffier! I fully intend to play fast and loose with the speed of time dilation between Bardo and Sanctum because let's be real, the show did that too. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing and to Liya for drawing the cover art, which you can check out on Twitter if I never figure out how to post it here... Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: anxiety and depression, for this chapter and throughout. I'll add other content notes as things come up.

Clarke hates to feel out of her depth.

It's a feeling she's hated all of her life. She's always liked to have a sensible plan, a good bit of order. That's why she thrived on playing chess or learning medical theory in her youth.

And it's why she's been struggling since the moment she first set foot on Earth.

It seems to be getting worse. That's what she hates most of all. The kind of chaos she faced at the dropship camp, though dangerous, felt more playful than anything. And then when Praimfaya was coming, she felt totally out of her depth, but at least she had Bellamy by her side to face it.

And now?

Now she's all alone. Madi's all she's got left, and having a daughter she is desperate to protect is not the same as having her best friend by her side.

Her best friend she was in love with.

 _Whatever_. That's not what matters, now.

What matters is that Cadogan has just banished her friends to goodness only knows where, and that they're now heading back through the anomaly to Sanctum. What matters is that Bellamy is dangerous, and she had better remember it.

What matters is that she is out of her depth, once and for all.

The chaos gets worse. No sooner is Clarke through the anomaly than there are people moving all around her, Wonkru warriors charging so fast they blur before the eyes, Disciples slipping out of invisibility as they fall, mortally wounded, to the floor. Clarke is shocked, and she's seen Wonkru fight before. She cannot imagine how stunned Cadogan and his men must be feeling.

Good. She wants to see them on the back foot for a change. She knows it's petty, but she wants to see how _they_ like to feel out of their depth.

By the time people stop moving, the scene is an interesting one. Indra has a sword at Cadogan's throat. Murphy is pointing a gun at Bellamy, but he looks confused to find himself doing so. Nelson and some woman Clarke vaguely recognises from Sanctum are waving weapons at Doucette.

Clarke holds her breath, waits for the truth to come out. Surely Wonkru have not managed to take down the invisible Disciples? That would be an incredible feat. But then why is no one charging to save Cadogan from Indra's sword?

"This isn't over." Cadogan says, in the tone of voice of one who is half-admitting the opposite.

"Your men are dead and my warriors have the victory." Indra argues.

"More of my Disciples will come if we don't return home. You'll be wiped out."

Clarke waits with baited breath for Indra to speak back. She presumes that Indra will say Wonkru do not back down from a fight, that the cycle of violence will begin all over again.

So much for doing better.

But then Indra looks Clarke right in the eye, and speaks.

"Then Wonkru will negotiate from a position of strength. You are my hostage and I will negotiate with you. Your remaining men will be guarded here until we reach a resolution."

Just for a moment, Clarke feels pride. Just for a moment that feeling pushes through, over and above the anger and betrayal and outright terror warring in her chest. She's so proud of Indra for seeking a better solution, here, than more senseless killing.

Cadogan, of course, is not so proud. He looks spitting mad, in fact, eyes cold and hard as he glances around the room. But no one is coming to save him. Bellamy and Doucette are effectively restrained, and all the rest of the Disciples he brought with him must truly be dead.

Indra doesn't appear to care. She simply starts marching him from the room, shouting instructions to a few of her warriors as she goes. For a second, Clarke contemplates following her. But one glance from Indra makes it plain that she has a different plan. Clarke is to stay here, and keep out of it, and leave this as a negotiation between Cadogan and the woman who has just beaten him.

Yes. Clarke can see that's the smart choice. She can see that puts Indra in a strong position.

So it is that she watches their retreating backs and wonders what the hell she is supposed to do now.

…...

She finds Madi and heads for the farmhouse. That doesn't seem likely to save the human race, but she thinks it might just save her sanity, and heaven knows that's a big priority for her, right now. She's been struggling to keep her head straight ever since Bellamy went missing-presumed-dead, never mind when he came back home as some fanatic she no longer recognises.

She's just so sick and tired of life going wrong. She'd give anything to live a nice peaceful existence here with Madi and have all this business about light and faith and a last war vanish into thin air. She honestly thought good things might lie ahead, when they removed the Primes from Sanctum and discussed doing better. She was devastated about losing her mother, of course, but she naively thought this might be a chance for Madi to go to school and for Bellamy to tell her what was really going on behind his worried eyes when he brought her back from the dead.

So much for that.

She spends a pleasant morning drawing with Madi.

No. That's a total lie. She's spent too long trying to put a brave face on things, too long trying to pretend she isn't falling apart on the inside.

She spends a _fraught_ morning drawing with Madi, wondering what's going on behind the closed doors of the negotiating room. She stares out of the window at the softly falling snow, tries not to let it remind her too sharply of death wave day. She gazes at the frightening pictures her daughter draws of memories not her own, attempts to do some sketching for herself but ends up drawing only Wells and Lexa and clean-shaven Bellamy and everyone else she has loved and lost.

It's an absolute disaster. And then Indra knocks on the door and makes it even worse.

"Clarke. I need to talk to you."

Clarke jumps to attention. She's fed up of being so damn scared all the time. Has she mentioned that she hates this feeling, like her life is beyond her own control?

Madi excuses herself. Silence sits heavily. Indra takes a seat, heavier still as she sinks wearily into the chair.

"I did the best I could. It could be worse." Indra begins.

Clarke nods. "What did you need to speak to me about?"

"You're to marry Bellamy. I spun them a tale about how we _savages_ secure our alliances with a marriage. That will be our way in to stop whatever it is they're doing – you and Bellamy will work from the inside to -"

"Indra. Stop." Clarke takes a shaky breath. "What are you talking about? _Marry_ Bellamy? We both know that our people don't go for arranged marriages. And it won't work – he's with them for real now." She wonders about adding a reminder that Echo exists, too, but in the grand horrific scheme of things, such concerns as preexisting romantic relationships don't seem to be a priority.

Clarke has never seen Indra overcome with shock before. But she sees it now, as Indra's mouth gapes open and her eyes go wide.

"He can't be with them." She snaps. "He's Bellamy. Octavia's sister. He wouldn't -"

"He would. He did. He told them I didn't have the flame any more. I was playing for time and he betrayed me."

There's a sticky silence. Indra swallows loudly. Clarke wonders about crying. This whole situation sounds even worse now she's trying to explain it rationally to the most collected person she knows, watching even her face slacken with disgusted shock.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." Indra murmurs. "I presumed he was playing a double game. Isn't that what he does? Mount Weather? And I heard about him rescuing you from Josephine."

Clarke nods. It hurts to remember it, but she remembers it all the same.

"I had to fight hard for this part of the deal. It made so much sense to me at the time – I never dreamed -" Indra cuts herself off, tries again. "We have to stick with it. Cadogan will get suspicious if I change my mind when I fought so hard for this. Even if Bellamy isn't with us, having you close to their inner circle has to be better than nothing. I was trying to keep Wonkru safe."

"You did good." Clarke reassures her instinctively. "You did the best you could with the information you had." The words cling like dust in her throat.

"I thought I was making it three against one but two against two is still better odds than we expected." Indra sighs loudly. "I should have known it had been too easy. We worked hard to train to overcome the invisible troops, these last couple of days. The work we put into that and taking out Sheidheda can't all be for nothing, Clarke. You have to go through with it."

"I know." She says, and her voice comes out small. She's known she would have to go through with it since the moment Indra walked in here. She put pretty much all the same puzzle pieces together herself – it's no coincidence she has been the leader of the human race before now.

"It can't be the hardest thing you've ever done." Indra says, as if to encourage or strengthen her.

Clarke snorts, a cold, humourless sound. She's done some damn difficult things in her life to date. She's watched her father float, saved her friends at her own expense, chosen her daughter over the rest of her friends and family.

But an arranged marriage to the best friend she's been in love with for years, who's now been replaced by a fanatical stranger?

That's possibly the most challenging of the lot.

"When's the wedding?" She asks, feeling small.

"Tonight. I wanted to get this secured as quickly as possible. Cadogan wants to tear up Sanctum looking for the flame – I said we'd hunt for it tomorrow but I plan to have Raven destroy it before we hand it over."

Clarke nods. Tonight. It looks like she had better find a dress.

…...

Bellamy doesn't understand what's going on, at first. He feels like his brain has been a little slower in general, since Etherea. It took him too long to figure out that Clarke was planning to sacrifice herself and save her friends, he remembers, and too long to realise he had better tell his Shepherd the truth about her.

So it is that he does not catch on, at first, when Cadogan starts saying things about arranged marriages and archaic customs.

"These people are all so primitive." Cadogan says, and Bellamy stiffens. This man is his Shepherd, and he wants to love and respect him. But is he saying that Octavia and Echo and Clarke are primitive? He can't agree with that.

But on the other hand, it was all this senseless fighting that made his faith so attractive to him. It's a confusing mess, and he hates it. He hates trying to answer difficult questions while his brain still feels full of fog.

But it's then that something cuts through the fog, at last. Like a thunderclap, something his Shepherd is saying slices straight through the white noise in his head.

"So I'm sorry, but you're marrying her. That's just how it is."

"Marrying who?"

" _Clarke_." His Shepherd sounds exasperated, and he doesn't like it.

"I – forgive me." He coughs. "It's a lot to take in. I'm marrying Clarke? Disciples don't marry."

"I've been forced to make an exception for you." Cadogan bites out. "Like I said, a primitive business. All this clan alliance nonsense. But they fight well for savages, so they've got us backed into a bit of a corner. You understand nothing must get in the way of our last war. We need that AI."

Bellamy nods. It's difficult to focus well enough to make sense of all this, if he's being honest. He's being ordered to marry Clarke by a man who doesn't believe in marriage? He's being offered up as part of the peace treaty, like some kind of sacrificial lamb for the slaughter?

There was a time, of course, when he'd have given anything to marry Clarke. He wouldn't have seen it as a hardship at all. But he has no particular love for her, now he's found his faith, and she certainly has no particular love for him, if the way she's dropped his acquaintance since he returned is anything to go by. He still cannot quite believe that Clarke Griffin – _his_ Clarke, he used to think, the Clarke he coaxed back from the dead here in Sanctum – would look him in the eyes and tell him to go float himself. He cannot wrap his head around the fact she has so little interest in his story or respect for his newfound faith.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. That's the thought that stands out in his head, even though it's a stupid one. They weren't supposed to be forced into a marriage now that they will both hate – not when they've spent their entire adult lives silently and distantly loving each other.

She's going to be furious.

"Has she agreed to it?" He asks, feeling small.

Cadogan frowns slightly. "She will. She's smart, that one. I don't know whether I buy all this about this Indra woman really being their commander."

"Indra commands Wonkru." Bellamy finds himself saying, on instinct, leaving his sister out of it altogether. "Clarke's always been more of a... consultant to whoever's in charge."

His Shepherd nods, well pleased. "Thank you, Bellamy. You'll be very useful to our cause, I believe. This marriage could be a great opportunity for you to lead us closer to the light."

Bellamy nods, less pleased, throat thick with tears he dares not shed. He knows what his Shepherd means, there. He means that it's time for Bellamy to choose – Clarke or Cadogan, tribalism or transcendence.

He hates it. He hates everything about this position he has found himself in – one more impossible choice in a lifetime of impossible choices. He hates feeling like he is letting everyone down, all at once, when all he wants to do is share the love and show the light to everyone.

For all mankind.

"The wedding's tonight. Apparently you have to prepare some vows."

"What should I say?"

"How should I know? You've made it quite clear to your old friends that you're beyond selfish love and that this will be a sham. But Indra insisted. Keep it brief."

 _Keep it brief_. Yes. Finally an order he stands some hope of following.

…...

It's snowing as Clarke walks to her wedding.

She really does _detest_ snow, for the record. Every winter she lived in Shallow Valley with Madi she would dread it, would live in fear of the flashbacks to the day the death wave burned. She'll never regret the sacrifice she made that day – it brought Madi into her life, after all – but there's no doubt that it was a traumatic experience. And part of her will always blame the snow for her slow shuffling jog to the tower, for returning too late to board the rocket with Bellamy and the others. She knows on a logical level that the misaligned dish was more to blame, but logic seems to have slowly been abandoning her, since that day.

The snow grows heavier during the ceremony, while she shivers in a pointlessly beautiful blue dress. She can see the storm out of the window while Gaia speaks some words about faith which make her want to wince. Sometimes on a long, fearful winter's night like this on Earth, Clarke used to allow herself to dream about marrying Bellamy. She used to dream that they would tie the knot when he arrived back on Earth, and it would feel wonderful – like homecoming and peace and a warm bed at the end of a tiring day.

This doesn't feel like any of those things. It just feels cold.

At last, the ceremony is nearing its conclusion. Gaia prompts Clarke to say the vows she has prepared.

Clarke swallows hard. She can do this. She can make it through a couple of sentences. And they're sentences that shouldn't even _mean_ anything to her, any more – Bellamy has made it quite clear that their old friendship means nothing to him, after all.

She steels her courage and begins.

"Today I am standing here before my best friend."

She gives another sticky swallow, heaves in a breath. She didn't expect Bellamy to look up and stare at her when she said that, and it's thrown her off a little.

She presses on.

"Isn't that what everyone dreams of? To marry their best friend? And I've – I guess I've certainly dreamed of this before now. Maybe the circumstances are different from what I expected but – but I know we'll take care of each other and of our people, because we always do. I _promise_ it. I promise to take care of you as best as I can, Bellamy Blake." She concludes, tearful, but dignity just about intact, she hopes.

There's an horrific silence. It's Bellamy's turn, now. Gaia is gesturing at him, motioning for him to get the hell on with it. His gaze is flickering between Clarke and where Cadogan sits watching the ceremony – with a sort of curious frown, she notes.

Bellamy has much less to say, it turns out. He doesn't bother pretending he's still her best friend. So much for his claim back on Bardo, that he's still the same man who brought her back from the dead.

"I promise to protect you, Clarke. Always." A brief cough. "For all mankind."

She cries then. She admits defeat and cries, just one solitary tear slipping down her cheek.

No one says Bellamy may kiss the bride, and that's just as well. He looks as if there's nothing he wants to do less.

…...

It is only after the wedding ceremony is complete that Bellamy realises the worst horror is yet to come.

It turns out that there is more to this charade of peace and unity than a few disarmingly heartfelt wedding vows. The happy couple are to sleep in the master bedroom at the Primes' old palace, with Madi in a nearby room as part of the suite that used to belong to the Lightbournes.

There's a sick and twisted irony to this, Bellamy muses, as there has been a sick and twisted irony to so much of his life. They always seem to be building the future on the corpses of the past, and he hates it. That's why he wants to take humanity into the light. He's sick of all this – bring down Mount Weather, move in, and the grounders blow them sky high. Depose one regime here, only to find himself somehow the puppet king set up to smile and wave down at his new kingdom.

He goes along with it, of course. His Shepherd tells him to. And amidst all these conflicted loyalties, the bone-deep exhaustion, the lingering cough, the fog in his head, it is easier to follow orders than to argue back.

Clarke spends ages putting Madi to bed. Bellamy wonders whether she's really that obsessed with the child's welfare or whether she's giving him the chance to pretend to be asleep.

He snorts to himself, looks around the bedroom that has been presented to them. He's obviously not going to pretend to be asleep, is he? There's only one bed, and there's no way he can sleep in it because that leaves Clarke without anywhere to sleep. He supposes he'll have to make do with a chair or the floor, which is kind of a shame. He's just got back from an exhausting ordeal on Etherea, seems to have brought a persistent cough back with him. He could kind of use a decent night's sleep. But no way can he try to share a bed with a woman who detests him.

He hates this. He hates everything about the entire situation, in case that wasn't already clear. Just because he can't love doesn't mean he's the monster Clarke seems to think he is. He hates the conflict between them, between the different parts of himself, even. That big heart she used to talk about has always defined him, so he loves her almost instinctively despite himself. But he feels a genuine conviction that transcendence is the way to peace, and he's beyond hurt that Clarke won't even hear him out properly on that topic.

He's sick of thinking about such big issues, yet somehow powerless to push them out of his mind. And the exhaustion really isn't helping.

He admits defeat, makes a bed for himself on the floor. He can take one of the pillows from the bed, right? That's not unreasonable. And a blanket or two, as well?

He's more or less arranged his meagre bedding to his satisfaction when Clarke walks in.

"What are you doing?" She asks, sharp. It's the first thing she's said to him since she promised to take care of him, and it hurts. Apparently that soft tone – that tone he could almost believe was genuine – was all part of the political charade.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asks, tone a little milder than hers, but still audibly unhappy even to his own ears.

"Don't be stupid. We're adults. _Married_ adults. We can share a bed."

He can't, though. He can't share a bed with someone who claims to be his best friend, but who won't even believe in him far enough to respect his story.

"I'll take the floor." He insists around another cough. "You should have the bed. I made a promise to protect you, didn't I?"

"And I made a promise to take care of you." She bites back – only this time, he thinks, she sounds like she might actually have _emotions_. "I'm not letting you sleep on the floor, Bellamy. You just got back from some horrific experience in a snow cave and you need a decent night's sleep."

He swallows, hard. He's not sure what it is that's getting to him more – the fact that she actually does sound close to crying, now, or the fact that despite everything which is wrong between them, she's still thought about what he's been through and how she can take care of him.

"I'm fine." He says, because keeping it brief is a good way of keeping it from getting too emotional. That was a useful tip from his Shepherd, earlier.

"You're not _fine_. You were dead. I thought you were dead. And now you're – we're -" She breaks off, tearful, gesturing helplessly at the bed before her.

He doesn't hug her. He would have done, before Etherea. Or even before she told him to go float himself, he suspects. Although he found it hard to process that first hug she gave him when he arrived back on Bardo, he didn't _dislike_ it. Hugs are still a good thing in general, he suspects.

His brain is too full of fog to be sure.

"Believe me, however painful this is for you it's ten times as bad for me." He grinds out, annoyed with her, starting to settle into his makeshift bed.

"Bellamy -"

" _I loved you_." He barks the words out, quite against his better judgement. "I loved you, Clarke. The end of that first week on Etherea I said it out loud for the first time and _you weren't there_. No one was there for me, except Doucette and the light. So don't you dare tell me this is difficult. Believe me, I know."

Silence falls. He feels it sit, heavy, in the air, cold and thick and cloying like the snow drifting in the corners of the window panes. He waits for Clarke to break the moment – she's never been one to keep quiet for the convenience of others. He's sure she has something to say – an argument about why she has it worse, while she's been more or less safe and it's only been days for her. Or maybe she's going to tell him yet again how wrong his faith is, how badly he betrayed her, how furious she is with him.

She doesn't say any of those things, in the end. She says something worse by far.

"I _still_ love you. That's the hardest thing of all. It's been months for you, but to me Bellamy is still the guy I watched walk into the woods with his sister three days ago. My heart hasn't caught up with my head."

That's the problem, isn't it? Heart and head, never in sync. Never together and at peace for long enough to figure it out.

There's nothing he can do, of course. He can't love her beyond the love he feels for all mankind. He can't help her figure out her feelings, because she seems determined to have no interest in anything he has to say.

So it is that he falls asleep that night to the sound of Clarke weeping. He's too tired and hurt to stay awake and wipe away her tears.


	2. Not the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited at the positive response to chapter one - thank you so much! I'm hilariously behind on replying to comments but please be assured that I do read and treasure them and I will reply to all of them soon! Thanks to Stormkpr for betaing another chapter with all her precious nitpicks. Happy reading!
> 
> Content notes: as last chapter, plus a bit more sickness.

Clarke wakes up the following morning – her first morning as a wife – all alone in her marriage bed.

She knew it would be like this, of course. She remembers that both she and Bellamy went to sleep last night upset and entirely separate, him in his blankets, her on the bed. But all the same, some silly girlish part of her still dreams of waking up to find that he's by her side. She's still craving some magical fairy-tale ending where they're suddenly sharing the bed, and they've snuggled together in the night, and the marriage will turn out to be real after all.

Needless to say, she doesn't get that. She doesn't get it _at all_ , and she hates herself for wanting it.

She wakes up early, the hot fizz of anxiety refusing to let her sleep any longer. It's just about light out, so she figures that makes it time to rise and face the day.

Bellamy's still fast asleep, she notes. Good. He's been looking exhausted since he got back from Etherea, although she's not sure how much of the dull look in his eyes is more to do with faith than fatigue. And she's heard him cough more often than she thinks a totally healthy person would cough from dust or cold air or sheer chance, and she doesn't like it.

She really should have insisted on him taking the bed.

She's annoyed that she didn't fight harder on that one last night, now she's watching him sleep on the hard floor in the cold light of morning. She can be angry with him and hurt at his betrayal but still want him whole and healthy. She meant what she said yesterday, when she was saying her vows. She really does want to take care of him. It's still there inside of her, that instinctive urge to wish him the best.

Right on cue, he coughs feebly in his sleep.

So that's why she takes a blanket with her, crumpled in her fists, as she gets out of bed. That's why she drapes it carefully over him while he sleeps, slowly and lightly and gently so as not to wake him. She doesn't know what the hell she'd say if he were to wake up, now, and blink up at her while she's making such a fuss of him.

This situation they've found themselves in is quite awkward enough, without that.

Once the blanket is in place, she tears herself away. She knows no good can come of staring at Bellamy, not even for a second. His face looks too like the face he used to wear before Praimfaya, back when he was clean-shaven and she naively let herself think of him as _hers_. Especially now, when he's sleeping – all he needs is an Ark guard jacket in place of that ridiculous white shirt he wears under his ridiculous white robes, and which he seems to have decided will serve as pyjamas for the time being.

Having detached herself from Bellamy's makeshift bedside, she sets out down the hallway towards Josephine's old quarters.

There's a rather particular chore she needs to attend to.

…...

Bellamy wakes up achy and disorientated, but warm at least. That's progress, after months spent sleeping in a cave in the snow. He sits up, notes that he seems to be wrapped in one more blanket than he took from the bed last night.

He swallows down a sob. He knows it's a stupid thing to get emotional about – it's just a blanket. But the thing is, he knows that Clarke must have given him this blanket. This is the bedroom they share, and she is presumably the only other person who's been in here this morning. He can't see another explanation for how this blanket ended up added to his bedding.

Maybe she did mean it after all, when she vowed to take care of him. He just cannot figure her out at the moment – she says she loves him still, that they're best friends, that she wants to take care of him, and yet she will not listen to him or respect him or make the slightest attempt to understand him. She seems utterly happy to drop his acquaintance altogether one minute, and then the next she's acting like he means the world to her.

No. He's getting ahead of himself. It's just a blanket. She'd probably do the same for anyone – it's not a big gesture. And anyway, maybe she's just trying to keep the alliance alive. Her arranged marriage won't be much use to her if he goes and dies of hypothermia, will it?

He gets dressed quickly, doesn't let a coughing fit slow him down as he throws his robe on over his shirt. He might have to ask how one goes about getting a change of robes, next time he sees his Shepherd. All this white cloth seems likely to get spoiled pretty quickly in the mud of Sanctum. Dressed and as ready as he'll ever be, he sets off down the hallway in search of something to eat.

Breakfast is excruciating.

There's simply no other word for it. It starts with a solid forty seconds of absolute silence in which Madi frowns at him and makes no attempt to respond to his morning greeting.

And then Clarke walks into the room, and it grows only worse.

"Here." She offers, eyes averted, a book clasped in her outstretched hand.

"What's this?" He asks, puzzled, but reaching out to take it all the same, because that's what you do when someone holds a thing out to you. He may have spent three months cut off from civilisation, but he remembers that basic rule of human interaction.

"It's a book." She swallows loudly, averts her eyes. "Call it a late wedding present. Or welcome home from – from Etherea."

"It's for me?" He asks, genuinely shocked, peering at the title. _History of Rome._ Huh. That sounds right up his street. Or maybe it would have been, before Etherea.

"It belonged to the Lightbournes so I guess maybe it was already yours. Do we own all this stuff now? But I remembered from – from Josephine that they had a few books here, so I thought I'd go look and see if there was anything you might like."

He breathes carefully for a few seconds, jaw tight, trying to neither cough nor cry. The last book he read was _the Shepherd's Passage_. And _the Shepherd's Passage_ was a most informative work on very many issues, but it said nothing at all about situations like this. It has in no sense prepared him for how the hell he is supposed to react when the wife he used to love presents him with a gift that would have been perfect for his younger self.

"I don't know if I should accept wedding presents." He says carefully, in the end. Why oh why has his Shepherd not prepared him for real world concerns like this?

Clarke snorts. At least, it sounds like it's _supposed_ to be a snort, but like she's rather struggling to see the funny side, right now.

"It's just a book, Bellamy." She snaps, eyes on the table, making a great display of helping Madi to some more food. "It's not like it's another pathetic love confession. Just take the damn book."

"Clarke -"

"Just take it, Bellamy." She bites out. Her voice sounds shaky, and it scares him.

"But I don't -"

"Take it." She's half-growling, now. "It's all I can do, don't you see? It's all I can do." She gasps, frantic, hands trembling as she turns a slice of cold toast in her fingers. "I can give you a damn book. But I can't turn back time and save you from whatever happened on that mountain. I can't just say _screw it all_ and follow your new cult -"

"I'll take the book." He tells her, because he really wants her to stop talking like that. She's scaring him. "OK, Clarke? I'm taking the book. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A heavy silence falls. He sits at the empty seat which has been left for him – rather more than an arm's length away from Clarke or Madi, he notes. He can't actually reach any food from here, but he senses that asking someone to pass him the marmalade is not really going to go well, at this precise moment.

"It's not a cult." He hears the words come out of his own mouth, defensive, hurt, and utterly unplanned.

Clarke stiffens. "Bellamy -"

"No. You're saying giving me this book is all you can do. But that's one thing you could do, Clarke. You could at least _try_ to understand."

"Don't you think she's already _trying_?" Madi snaps, speaking up for the first time since he walked into the room.

He gulps, triggers another damn coughing fit. He doesn't know what to do now. He doesn't want to shout at an innocent child – a child who he used to have something of a soft spot for, he seems to remember. But he just doesn't get it. He just cannot see why his old friends are all so determined to ignore his new faith. And he's just desperate for someone – _anyone_ – to understand him.

That heavy silence reigns once more. Excruciating. Absolutely _excruciating_.

And then Clarke speaks.

"Tell me." She says. Just that – two simple words, which apparently cost her a great effort.

He swallows. He wasn't expecting that, wasn't ready for her to just request it so simply, at this exact moment. Where to start?

"This is how we get to peace." He begins cautiously. "I really believe that. This is one last war and then mankind will transcend and live in peace."

"We thought the war for Shallow Valley was one last war to get to peace, too." Madi offers, scornful.

He frowns. He remembers that. And he remembers telling Madi to do better, then. But here and now, Clarke is actually shushing her daughter and looking towards him as if eager to hear what he has to say next.

Well, then. He presses on. "It's real. I saw the light in that cave, and my Mum was there, and it was so peaceful. That's what it will be like when we all transcend. We'll all be at peace. So that's why we have to find the flame and fight this last war for all mankind."

Clarke doesn't shout or argue, this time. It's not like it was in that room on Bardo. He's not sure whether that's a good sign or not. He feels rather out of practice at reading Clarke's moods, since Etherea.

There's that, and there's also the fact that her moods seem to be different, now. She seems to wear her emotions closer to the surface than he remembers – he's noticed that, even in this one short day they've been married. Maybe that's the grief of losing her mother, he wonders.

Or maybe it's worse than that – maybe it's his fault.

Either way, he doesn't understand what's going on in her head. So it is that he simply sits and waits for her to respond in her own time.

She speaks up at last, considered and confident. "Even if it's true that we get to transcend if we win a last war, I want no part in it." She tells him firmly. "It sounds too much like the City of Light to me. I'd rather live this _real_ life."

"Really – _this_ life? After every horrible thing that has happened, you still choose this life?" He asks her, disbelieving. They're in the kitchen that once belonged to her bodysnatcher, and she's eating an excruciating breakfast with the husband she hates being married to but loves, heartbroken, all the same. And she's claiming she really wants _this_ life more than transcendence?

"Yes." She answers, immediate and certain. "It's worth it. All these real human relationships _make_ it worth it. Spending time with the people I love. Watching Miller and Jackson fall in love in the middle of a horror story. Seeing Octavia recover from her time as Blodreina or Raven come to terms with her injury. Victories like that make it worth it." She gulps slightly, stares at that same slice of uneaten toast. "And your hugs – they used to make it pretty worthwhile, too."

He sits, stunned, totally at a loss. No one has spoken to him like this since he got back from Etherea. He's faced anger and judgement, and even a kind of confused sympathy from Emori.

But trust Clarke to dare to argue with him.

He doesn't know how to process what she's just said. His brain isn't up for it, still filled with the fog of exhaustion and loneliness, still overwhelmed by the stress of being surrounded by people after so long isolated on that mountain. He's in no fit state to try to reconcile the Shepherd's teaching that love is selfish with Clarke's passionate belief that love is what makes life worthwhile.

But through the fog, he does manage to make sense of one thing. He does manage to note that this is the first time he's felt truly listened to in a long time. And although Clarke still disagrees with him absolutely, he can see now that it's not because she's not trying to understand him.

It's because she genuinely thinks he's wrong.

"We've been here before." He says, smiling a smile that ought to be wistful but comes out heavy with sadness. "You and me, totally disagreeing about what's best for our people but both convinced we're in the right."

"The dropship." It's Madi who speaks up with that answer, filling in even as Clarke's eyes are visibly filling with tears.

He waits for Clarke herself to add something, but she doesn't. She just nods urgently, crushes that poor mangled slice of toast in her fist.

"It was Clarke who won in the end." Madi supplies.

He frowns for a moment, coughs absently. He supposes it was Clarke who won in the end, more or less. But he cannot afford to think nostalgically of that, because Clarke cannot be allowed to win, this time. That would be letting his Shepherd down, and he's had enough of letting people down to last a lifetime.

"It wasn't as simple as that. We both changed and compromised." Clarke corrects her daughter gently.

Huh. He wonders if there's anything to be said for that, this time round. He wonders if there is any chance of compromise on this occasion. He cannot see an obvious compromise between reality and transcendence, Bardo and Sanctum. And it's important to him that all mankind transcends, of course, because that's what his faith requires.

But as he sees Clarke set aside her mangled toast and reach for a new slice, watches Madi pass the marmalade down to his end of the table, he wonders whether maybe it would be polite at least to nod and agree that compromise is a nice idea.

…...

Clarke doesn't hang around weeping at the breakfast table all morning. She has things to do. And anyway, she thinks it will do her good to keep moving, stay distracted. She's worried that she'll fall apart completely if she allows herself to stay still. At least while she's busy saving her people she has a desperate motivation to keep functioning.

She leaves Madi safely with Gaia and goes to find Raven. Meanwhile she understands that Indra will go to see Cadogan and get him to follow through on his part of the deal – as long as the flame is given to him, the rest of their people will be brought back from wherever he banished them to.

Clarke wonders how well this will all turn out. The plan is for Raven to destroy the flame and make it utterly useless to Cadogan. But Clarke is not so naive as to think that will be an easy end to it all. She knows that Cadogan is a determined man and will not give up so soon. Destroying the flame is really just a delaying tactic, an opportunity for them to regroup and decide what happens next.

All the same, it's certainly a better move than handing that man the code to start his last war.

She's disappointed in Bellamy. That's probably the last thing she should be preoccupied with, as she attends to this crucial errand. But after their conversation at breakfast, that's the thing that stands out in her mind. She cannot believe that he's the same Bellamy who stood by her side, trusted her and protected her, while she took down the City of Light. She cannot wrap her head around the way he has changed his tune so suddenly. And yeah, sure, she knows it must have something to do with the ordeal he went through on that mountain, but she's frankly too exhausted and scared to be able to make sense of it, right this moment.

She just feels incredibly let down.

She never thought he would let her down. She thought he was the one person who would have her back no matter what, and it sucks to find out she was wrong. Most of all it sucks that Bellamy is now so firmly on the side of the man she blames for changing him. If anything, Cadogan's role in Bellamy's new faith makes her even more determined not to help him out in the slightest.

She tries to stop thinking about such things, as she knocks on the door of the workshop and prepares to greet Raven. She tries to focus on the task at hand, and on the rocky road ahead.

Raven opens the door, takes one look at her and pulls her into a resounding hug.

"That bad, huh?" Raven mutters, as she holds Clarke tight.

Clarke pulls away. She cannot afford to break, not now. If she starts telling Raven how bad it is, she'll never stop, she fears. And that's not fair on Raven who has her own troubles to deal with, and nor is it _useful_. Breaking will not keep her daughter or her people safe.

"I've been better." She acknowledges, trying to pass it off lightly, as they start walking.

"Clarke -"

"I can't talk about it." She snaps. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

"I get that." Raven says softly. "Just let me say one thing, OK? You and Bellamy always find your way back to each other. When we first got here and I was being awful to you, you and Bellamy were already devoted to each other again. I still believe you'll figure it out."

Clarke's not sure whether to laugh or cry. It's a nice sentiment, she supposes, but she thinks it rather overlooks some key facts – things like Etherea and Cadogan and a damn religious experience. And she's not used to watching Raven overlook facts in the name of sentiment, and she doesn't quite know how to process it. The Raven she knows since the nuclear reactor deaths is softer around the edges, sure, but this seems like another step entirely.

"Thanks, I guess." She offers, in the end.

"Any time. I know we've never been as close as you were with – with him. But I want you to know I'm still here for you."

Huh. Apparently that's what's going on. Apparently Raven has decided she feels sorry for her, or something.

This is not the time to worry about the state of her friendships, Clarke tells herself firmly. This is the time for digging up the flame and buying some time. So it is that she leads Raven towards the place in the farmhouse garden where the flame lies buried.

They don't talk much as they walk, and Clarke is grateful for it. They discuss briefly the fact that it will be good to have Octavia and Echo and the others back, but that is about it.

They arrive at the farmhouse and Clarke makes quick work of the digging. The flame is not buried deeply, and it is in her hands soon enough. She hands it over to Raven, who shrugs off her backpack and explains that she intends to destroy the flame with an EMP, then give it a quick acid bath and tell Cadogan that it was simply damaged by the chemicals in the soil.

Clarke nods. She's supposed to fill in the shallow hole in the earth, now. She should do that while Raven is doing her thing. She should scoop up soil, and fill the hole, then stand up and walk away.

Needless to say, she doesn't. While Raven is setting up the EMP, Clarke digs a little further sideways. Her fingers catch on a thin chain of cold metal. She digs a little more, unearths her mother's ring on its chain, shining through the layer of dirt.

Before she can think too hard about what she's doing, she scoops it up and puts it straight into her pocket.

"What's that?" Raven asks, curious, looking up briefly from her work with the flame.

Clarke wonders about lying. But is there any point, really? If Raven is so determined to practise being a good friend to her, now, maybe she ought to have a go at telling her the truth.

"My mother's ring. I know it's silly but I just – I think I need to hold onto it at the moment. I'm missing her. And being married..." She trails off, unable to find the words to express everything she's thinking. That she didn't get a ring in that sham of a marriage ceremony, yesterday, and she feels short changed on her happy ending – to say the least. That she's missing the woman who taught her that marriage could be messy and difficult yet also precious.

That she wants hug from her mum, and one from a husband who doesn't hate her. And maybe not in that order.

"I get that." Raven says easily. "That's fine, Clarke. Whatever helps you cope with it."

Clarke snorts. She's pretty sure she's not coping, actually. She's pretty sure crying herself to sleep and crushing her breakfast rather than eating it and clinging onto some dead woman's jewellery are not signs of coping.

But as long as she functions far enough to keep her daughter and her people safe, that's OK. That's about all she has the heart to wish for, these days.

…...

Bellamy goes to meet the party of Disciples who are bringing his former friends home. He supposes that's the right thing to do – it will give him a chance to chat with the delegation from Bardo, if nothing else. He's looking forward to speaking to some people who don't feel betrayed by him. Perhaps his Shepherd will tell him he's proud, or if he's really lucky perhaps Doucette will be there for a hearty hug and a few words of support.

So there's that, and there's also the fact that he has absolutely nothing else to do. He genuinely doesn't understand how he is supposed to spend his time – his Shepherd gave him no useful orders beyond the fact that this was an opportunity to bring mankind closer to the light. Is he just supposed to sit around in the palace all day and play at being a benevolent king? That doesn't sound like the best use of his talents.

He has a feeling he's supposed to be mining information from Clarke, if he's being honest. But he's hardly going to have much success doing that while she can scarcely bear to look at him.

He feels himself smiling when the group arrives through the anomaly. That's interesting, he thinks – he's not been smiling much of late. But here's Doucette, waving cheerfully at him, his Shepherd smiling warmly, and all his old friends alive and well.

He's allowed to still want them to be alive and well, right? As long as he wants that in the same way he wants it for all mankind?

He heads for Octavia first. He's not sure why – maybe it's some instinct he hasn't managed to quash yet, or maybe that marginally more successful conversation with Clarke this morning has inspired him to try again at a bit of politeness with his sister, now, in turn.

"Octavia. Hi." He greets her, stiff but warm, he hopes.

"I always thought I'd be at your wedding, ever since we went to Earth." Octavia says, by way of greeting. "They told us what happened. Sounds like we didn't miss much."

He feels his jaw grow tight at that. Sure, it wasn't exactly the most upbeat wedding ever. But it was a wedding – _his_ wedding, and Clarke's – and he doesn't like to hear his sister being so scornful of it. Not to mention it was an important part of the peace negotiations, too.

Before he can figure out how to reply, Echo invites herself into the conversation.

"Can't say I'm surprised I wasn't there." She says, by contrast to Octavia, and it sounds like it's supposed to be a joke but is falling flat. "I should have known you'd end up marrying Clarke. Where is she, anyway?"

"Fetching the flame." He stops, coughs twice. "She should be here any moment."

Echo nods, cold. Octavia frowns. And then they walk off. They just wander off, walk away from him as if he's nothing to them.

It hurts more than it probably should. Being hurt by someone you used to love is still pretty painful, it turns out, even when you're beyond feeling love, any more.

But then Doucette approaches, and Bellamy's day gets a bit brighter. They say hello with a robust hug, which is rather lovely. Bellamy stands by that conclusion he reached yesterday – hugs are still a good thing, in general.

"How are you doing?" Doucette asks, pulling back from the hug.

Bellamy doesn't even try to answer that one. "How long has it been for you?" He asks instead.

"A couple of weeks. We've got a team that calculates the time difference so we can show up at the right time." He says smoothly.

Bellamy nods. Did he get away with that? Did he -?

"So I take it you're not doing so well." Doucette comments, eyes narrowed, picking up on that change of subject after all.

Bellamy nods again, uncomfortable but honest. "Octavia and Echo will barely talk to me."

"But you knew it would be like that." Doucette points out, firm but kind. "We already had this conversation back on Bardo. What's really bothering you?"

He swallows. He should have known Doucette would see straight through him – you don't spend three months trapped in a cave with someone without learning how to read them pretty well.

He gathers his courage, and prepares to admit the truth.

"Clarke gave me a book. She said it was a wedding gift." He pauses a moment, biting his lip. "And – and she told me she loved me. I feel awful, like I'm hurting her and letting her down."

"You can still love her as part of your faith. She is one of the human race we're trying to save."

"But that's not what she wants." Bellamy admits, hopeless, hands spread in despair. "That's not what me and Clarke were ever about – we were all about recognising each other as real unique individuals, rather than soulless leaders or _all mankind_." He stumbles to a halt, annoyed with himself. He sounded bitter there, and he doesn't mean to sound bitter about his faith. He's just struggling to get his head around all this.

"I know she was important to you. It's OK to take some time to adjust." Doucette says, soothing. "I can't imagine what that's like since I've never experienced it. I guess I'm closer with you than with anyone else but it doesn't sound like it's the same."

"It's not the same." Bellamy agrees, instantly and with utter conviction. Doucette has been a good friend to him, of late, but he is certainly not Clarke.

"You could probably give her something back, if you wanted to. I'm the First Disciple now so I guess I set the rules and I can't see anything wrong with it. As long as she understands it's just a gift and not – I don't know – a promise to love her."

Bellamy nods, but it's a challenge. The problem is, he fears that book might well have been a promise to love him. Or at least to take care of him, and make the best of it, and keep calling him her best friend at the most inconvenient of moments.

"Really. Give her a gift yourself." Doucette suggests, more insistent. "That will make you feel better – less in her debt, perhaps?"

Bellamy snorts. As if debts between him and Clarke can be counted in books and petty material gifts. The debts they owe each other are far bigger than that, by now – debts of life and death and love and hope.

He's saved from having to articulate that by an interruption. Clarke and Raven walk into the room, and Clarke is holding a very particular little chip in her hand.

"Here it is. The flame." She announces, making a game attempt at her old _confident leader_ face. Bellamy thinks it doesn't quite look right, though – there's too much tension around her eyes.

"Thank you, Clarke. Isn't it always convenient when things go smoothly?" Cadogan sounds like he's trying to repress his excitement, but he's not really succeeding.

"It's not in great condition." Raven speaks up. "We're sorry. It looks like the acidity of the soil must have damaged it. But I'll take a look and see if I can fix it. Maybe Gabriel can help me? He's familiar with this kind of technology."

Bellamy feels his own eyes narrow in suspicion, watches Cadogan's do the same. This is a rather convenient stumbling block. And convenient, too, that the man whose help she wants with the repairs is a recent recruit to the Disciples who has shown some loyalty towards Clarke and her people, before now.

Bellamy knows Clarke better than Cadogan does, of course. So he knows that she's behind this somehow, somewhere along the line. He's angry with her for that, because he wants to get on with leading all mankind into the light. The sooner they get the code, fight the last war, and transcend, the less time he has to sit around trapped in a marriage with a woman who's furious with him.

But there's another, smaller voice whispering in his rather confused thoughts. Murmuring that at least this stumbling block buys him time to give Clarke a wedding gift, in turn.

…...

Clarke spends marginally less time putting Madi to bed tonight. Bellamy still thinks it's a frankly disproportionate amount of time – he remembers taking care of Octavia, so he knows what he's talking about. But tonight she does at least make it back to the living room where he is sitting before he heads to bed.

He's trying to read that book she got him, but he's not having much luck. He still seems to be too mentally exhausted to make sense of the words, and it is beyond frustrating. So it is that he looks up, relieved, when she walks into the room. He'd rather have a conversation – even a tearful one – than continue with this thankless attempt at reading any longer.

"Madi OK?" He asks.

She looks at him, sharp, apparently surprised to have been asked. "Yeah. She's asleep."

He nods. Silence falls. He breaks it with a cough. What should he say next? Should he -

"I like to stay until she's been sleeping a little while. I know that's stupid but – but she gets nightmares. She's been very anxious since the flame." Clarke explains.

Yes. Of course. The flame. There's yet another way he has disappointed and betrayed Clarke in the recent past – putting the flame in her daughter's head.

"I get that. I used to worry about O a lot when she was that age." It feels strange to hear himself use the affectionate abbreviation of his sister's name, given their current estrangement, but Clarke doesn't comment on it at all.

"Yeah. It's tough. She's overthinking things like an adult but she's still easily shaken like a child." She summarises, shaking her head.

He frowns. He can see that she's really worried about her daughter, and it bothers him. She's got so many things to worry about. And yet again he notices that she really does seem to be more emotional than he remembers, is visibly struggling to hold it together.

That makes him happy that he chose to get her a gift after all.

"Here. I got you something. Sorry it's so late – I didn't realise we were doing wedding gifts." He says, because he thinks that's kinder than saying it's frankly ridiculous that they're doing wedding gifts, under the circumstances.

"You didn't have to." She protests at once, because of course she does. "I guess I was just trying to show you that – that I am trying."

"Me too." He says, pushing the gift right into her hands. "It's not anything big but – yeah. Here it is."

She opens it quickly, and he's not sure whether that's excitement or borderline panic that's making her hands so jerky. But then she's got it open and she stops and stares for a long time.

"You got me charcoal." She observes. He could swear she used to be more eloquent than this, once upon a time.

"Yeah. I remembered you like to draw." He coughs, swallows, stares at his toes for a moment. "And I know this is hard for you so I thought maybe it would be good for you to do some drawing to clear your head or whatever."

She nods urgently. She's silent, tears in her eyes, and he feels rather humbled that she's so moved by his little gesture.

Doucette was right. He does feel better for giving her a gift.

He feels better still when she steps forward, hand outstretched, and places one solitary stick of charcoal back into his palm.

"You should keep one." She says, closing his fingers over it. She hasn't touched him since that hug on Bardo, and the contact makes him feel funny. Sort of alert but soothed, all at once. "I know it's tough for you too. Maybe you should get into drawing."

He nods, swallows heavily. He doesn't really intend to get into drawing, but it's a thoughtful gesture. He's sort of hoping they'll fix the flame and transcend soon, and then the fog in his head won't matter any more.

Clarke excuses herself straight after that, says she's going to bed early. He doesn't ask questions, but simply nods again and lets her go. He's found nodding is a safe and easy response, since he started to follow his Shepherd. He's a little annoyed that Clarke is heading to bed so early, because honestly he could use some sleep himself and he doesn't want to be pottering round the bedroom while she's still awake. But in the spirit of books and charcoal and civility he lets her go, and sits back on the couch to pretend to read.

He doesn't last long. He gives her maybe fifteen minutes – he can't see that her bedtime routine can take longer than that. And then he sets down his book and heads to bed.

He notices two things, when he walks in the room. The first is the sound of muffled weeping, coming from where Clarke lies on the bed. And the second, as his eyes adjust to the low light, is that there seem to be more pillows and blankets in his makeshift bed than ever.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't recognise this Clarke – anger and tears and hysteria, as well as her usual pragmatism and the leadership she showed this morning, but balanced on a knife edge.

To be fair, he doesn't much recognise himself, either.

He'll ignore her, he decides. He'll do her the favour of not noticing, not embarrassing her with a conversation about it.

Or is that maybe just him doing himself a favour, because he doesn't know how to deal with _this_ Clarke? He knew how to interact with the Clarke he loved before Praimfaya. That night she wrote the list, he knew to offer her physical comfort and words of encouragement and then urge her to get some sleep.

But now he's at a total loss.

No. He's not going to take the easy way out. That's what he decides. He's never been one to take the easy way out where Clarke is concerned, and he doesn't intend to start now. He told her back on Bardo that he's still the same guy he always was, and he figures this is his chance to prove it.

"I'm sorry." He begins, voice breaking on that crucial word.

He sucks in a breath, tries again.

"I'm sorry it turned out like this. And I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to about – about any of this. But if there's anything I can do to help, let me know." He is interrupted by a cough. "I meant it when I said I wanted to protect you, Clarke. Whatever else you think about me right now, please trust that I do want you to be OK."

She weeps a few seconds longer. He sort of expects her to ignore him, if he's being honest, and he figures that's fine. He's said his piece, and she can have some time to absorb it. She can respond to it or not, as she chooses.

So he's surprised when she sits up in bed, as if gearing up for a proper conversation, even as she dashes away tears.

"Thanks, Bellamy. I meant it too – what I said about taking care of you. You really can sleep in the bed if you want."

That surprises a laugh out of him. "No. It's OK. You seem to have put half the bed on the floor for me anyway."

"Seemed like the least I could do." She says, her voice sounding a little lighter in turn.

He smiles at her, just ever so slightly. Just the faintest softening of his jaw, tilting of his lips. "We're OK, Clarke. We'll figure this out. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to me, I can tell you that."

"It's not?" She sounds surprised, and genuinely confused. He wonders whether that means that it _is_ the worst thing that's ever happened to her, and that hurts.

Not that it should hurt. He doesn't love her, remember?

"No. Not even close. Leaving you behind in Praimfaya and thinking I killed you will always be worse." He says, and the words come pretty easily to him, because they're a truth he accepted long ago.

"It wouldn't have been _you_ that killed me even if I had died." She argues.

"It felt like it."

"It wasn't your fault, though. You did what I wanted you to do. You lived, and you saved everyone."

He smiles a little wider. He's missed arguing with Clarke more than he cares to admit. But it's a bittersweet smile all the same, because he's still trying to save everyone now – she just thinks he's doing it wrong, this time.

"Why do I feel like we've had this argument before? Go to sleep, Clarke."

She snorts. It's not quite a laugh, but it's close. "You too, Bellamy. Take care of that cough."

His last thought as he settles into his makeshift bed? He never realised she had even noticed his cough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Stay with me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Christmas Eve is a Thursday, I guess I post a Christmas Eve chapter. Happy Christmas if you celebrate it! Huge thanks to Stormkpr, yet again, for betaing this. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: as before, plus more explicit discussion of mental health, more illness, and a brief depiction of a panic attack.

Breakfast is fast becoming Bellamy's least favourite meal of the day. He's still exhausted, each and every morning without fail, his limbs sluggish and his thoughts slow. He thinks he's sleeping reasonably well, all things considered. Bearing in mind he's always been prone to nightmares, has recently been through hell, and is currently sleeping on the floor of his best-friend-turned-wife's bedroom, he supposes he's sleeping at least as soundly as could be expected.

But he's still incredibly tired.

And on top of the exhaustion, the other problem with breakfast is the company. At least by supper he's had time to become warmed up or else resigned to the reality of his miserable situation. But first thing in the morning he hates being presented with Clarke's sad eyes and tense face and too-careful movements. It makes him want to cry, but he's pretty sure crying over his wife's wretched mental state would not meet the approval of his Shepherd.

And then there's Madi, who seems to be even angrier with him than Clarke is. He supposes he can understand that – Madi has never been in love with him, has no particular reason to show him kindness.

She's just sitting here and watching him upset her mother.

There's nothing he can do about that, he figures, except keep trying to show both Madi and Clarke that he doesn't mean to hurt anyone. That he honestly is devoted to the cause of transcendence, but that he doesn't want to cause them pain along the way.

Damn it. That's starting to sound a little like he's singling them out, taking particular care to protect especially them from harm. His Shepherd probably wouldn't like that.

Today he arrives at breakfast before Clarke. That's often the way – she's usually up long before he stirs, already out and about and doing goodness only knows what. Sometimes he allows himself to wonder whether she's keeping busy for the sake of it. He knows her well enough from before Praimfaya to remember that's a habit of hers.

So Clarke's not here, but Madi is. Great. This is going to be agonising at best, he figures.

He puts a brave face on it. He makes some toast, offers it to Madi who looks at him in stony silence for his trouble.

Fine. He'll put it on the table, pretend he doesn't notice her moodily taking a slice when his back is turned.

He bustles around the kitchen, fetching other useful bits and pieces. Glasses, a water jug, some spreads and knives.

"We're out of that berry jam you like." He calls to Madi with his head half in a cupboard. "You want me to go see if I can find some more? Does this palace have a cellar or something? Or you think they have some spare at the tavern?" He sort of hopes all those questions might provoke a reaction – a yes or a no at the very least.

They do provoke a reaction, it turns out – but not the kind of reaction he was wishing for.

Madi throws a piece of toast at the wall. Madi Griffin, that buoyant twelve year old who giggled over a cookie in the tavern here not so long ago, actually throws her breakfast at the wall. In fact, she throws it _hard_. She properly gets her arm behind it, lobs the toast with all her might so it bounces right off the elaborately decorated wallpaper.

This is an unexpected development.

And then it gets worse. Then she starts yelling at him, words falling from her mouth as she practically fizzes with anger, fidgeting in her seat, taking another piece of toast and chucking that the same way as the first one.

"You can't do this, Bellamy. You can't break Clarke's heart and betray her and then act like you give a damn what _jam_ I eat for breakfast. You can't have it both ways."

"Madi -"

"It's _wrong_." She yells at him, angry and surprisingly loud for such a usually polite child. "Jam is jam. I can eat some damn marmalade. But betraying Clarke to Cadogan is _big,_ Bellamy. It's not something you can just put right with _jam_. And I'm worried that if you upset her any more _she_ won't be right ever again either."

He gulps. He's been worrying about that quite a lot himself, actually. He's been noticing Clarke's tearful and panicky mood, her uncharacteristically erratic behaviour, and blaming himself for it even more fiercely than this child is now blaming him.

All the same, it hurts to hear it said out loud in someone else's words.

He takes some deep breaths. He's not crying. He mustn't cry. He doesn't care about Madi or Clarke any more than he cares about all mankind, so he mustn't let this get to him.

Damn it. He _is_ crying. His cheeks are slick with hot, salty tears as he scrubs a hand across his face.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and tries to gather his composure far enough to at least explain the situation to Madi. He might not be able to excuse it, or defend himself, or put it right in any way. But he at least wants to invite her to understand. Clarke's been understanding him a little better, since that conversation comparing transcendence and the City of Light, and it's left him thinking that his world might be a happier place if more people understood him, too.

"I'm worried about her, too." He starts there. At least that's something they can agree on. "But I don't know what I can do about that, Madi. I guess that's why I'm offering to go look for your favourite jam. Because that's something I _can_ do. I know it won't change how upset you or Clarke are but I hoped it would at least be a little gesture to show you I don't mean to hurt you." He swallows heavily, tastes salt. "It's like how Clarke gave me that book, or I gave her the charcoal. We're practising being civil to each other and working together as politely and kindly as we can despite our disagreements."

"Despite being on opposite sides of a war." She bites out.

He shakes his head. "It's not a war, Madi."

"Yet."

He bites his lip. He fears she might be onto something, there, and he has no response to it, so he moves on. "What I'm trying to say, Madi, is that Clarke and I have been trying to come to a more comfortable situation. A kind of compromise where we accept our differences but try not to hurt each other unnecessarily. We even try to look after each other where we can." He says, thinking of that small mountain of pillows and blankets Clarke has taken to leaving on the floor for his bed.

Madi snorts damply, shakes her head, scattering tears. "That's why I'm so angry, Bellamy. She's just forgiven you right away, just like she always does, even when you don't deserve it. She loves you, and you know it, and you're taking advantage of that."

He gulps. That's a big accusation. And it's one that he fears might be rather close to home.

"I'm not trying to hurt her." He defends himself weakly.

"You never are. But you do it, time and time and time again." Madi tells him – but at least now she's talking to him, and she hasn't thrown anything in a good couple of minutes. "Did you ever even apologise to her for locking her up when you were with Pike? Or for giving up on her and getting together with Echo? Or for -"

"Don't talk to him like that, Madi." Suddenly Clarke is striding into the room, hair bouncing with the speed of her steps. "Please. I know you're upset about a lot of things at the moment but taking it out on Bellamy won't help."

"It might if it makes Bellamy behave better." Madi snaps petulantly.

"It won't." Clarke says, short and exhausted, slumping into a seat at the breakfast table. "Please, Madi. I know you think you're defending me but the situation is complicated at the minute and I think conversations like the one you were having there should stay between me and Bellamy."

He blinks, coughs a little. This sounds like Clarke defending him – or at least Clarke saying that if she does attack him, she should do it herself and privately. He can't quite wrap his head around it. It makes him somehow incredibly happy, makes his chest feel sort of warm and light, but at the same time makes him feel deeply guilty as he wonders what his Shepherd would make of that.

"I really do understand why you're angry and upset." He offers. "Both of you." He adds, as an afterthought.

To his surprise, Clarke smiles at that. It's a sad smile, but it's there. "Anyway, Madi, didn't you listen to all those stories I used to tell you? I screwed up at least as often as Bellamy did."

He's not crying, now. He's smiling softly to himself, wondering how those conversations used to go. Imagining a rather younger Madi, less angry and more carefree, and a Clarke who laughed more, and the stories they would share. He's feeling his face grow hot at the thought of Clarke talking on and on at length about the times he stood at her side or protected her back or walked into danger in front of her, and he's picturing the affectionate little half-smile she might wear while speaking.

Crap. He's probably not supposed to imagine that.

…...

Bellamy takes himself out of the palace after breakfast – partly because he has to go serve his Shepherd, who is due to arrive imminently, but partly because he thinks it might be a dangerous test of his faith to stay there much longer. He was pretty starved for company on Etherea, and he's been short of human contact even since then, to be honest. So Clarke half-defending him and smiling at him a little this morning seems to have gone right to his head.

Walking to meet with his Shepherd feels harder than he thinks it really should. Every time he meets stairs he finds himself breathless, coughing, even slightly dizzy. Maybe he'll ask Clarke about that later, he wonders. She does seem to have decided to try to be civil to him. He thinks probably she'd give him a check up if he asked.

That thought goes right out of his head when he arrives. His Shepherd is furious, and makes no attempt to disguise it.

"That wife of yours has sabotaged us deliberately. She destroyed the flame on purpose, I'm sure of it." He spits the words, as if it is Bellamy's personal fault that Clarke is acting like this.

As if he chose to be married to her at all.

"I don't know what she's up to." Bellamy deflects the question with no attempt at subtlety. "She doesn't tell me her plans. We don't talk a whole lot since – since Etherea."

"You've not managed to get any useful information out of her yet?" Cadogan presses.

Bellamy gulps, shakes his head. He's not really been trying to get useful information out of her, has he? He's been a bit preoccupied with trying not to push her over the brink of sanity.

Cadogan presses on. "In that case I think I'll take her back to Bardo with me and put her in MCAP again. There must be something useful we can find out if we search hard enough."

Bellamy doesn't gulp this time. He takes a panicked gasp, which turns abruptly into a harsh fit of coughing.

Huh. He never thought he'd be grateful for this damn cough. At least it's giving him a moment to collect himself. His Shepherd really took him by surprise there. He can't explain it, but he simply cannot bear the thought of watching Clarke dragged off to MCAP once more. Maybe it's because he associates his memory of the last time that happened with the period on Bardo before they even tried to understand each other.

Maybe it's because he has been allowing himself to think of her as an individual, just a little bit.

Either way, it's the strongest feeling he's felt since Etherea, slicing clean through that confused fog of exhaustion that still clouds his mind. And he knows he mustn't let on to his Shepherd that he's feeling so conflicted about all this, but he needs to do something, otherwise Clarke will get hurt.

He can't let anyone hurt Clarke. She's already in enough pain.

"My Shepherd, forgive me, but I don't think we can do that." He phrases his objection carefully, uses _we_ to remind himself he's on Cadogan's side as much as for his Shepherd's benefit. "I think it goes against the terms of the truce. And if there's one thing I know about Clarke, she's stubborn. We'd destroy her brain before we'd find anything useful, and that really would end the truce."

Cadogan looks furious. "Are you suggesting I sit around and let her ruin our plans?"

"No. Not quite." Bellamy takes a steadying breath, feels it catch in his chest and set off another damn cough. "I'm suggesting we play the long game. The Disciples have been waiting for the last war for generations. We can afford to wait a little longer and get this right – you could even go back into cryosleep, my Shepherd, if this drags on too long. And meanwhile I can try to get close to Clarke again and figure out what's going on." He swallows. "I can try to get more information to pass on you. I can be your spy." Another sticky swallow. "For all mankind."

He draws to halt, leaves his suggestion hanging heavy in the air. He knows this is only what Cadogan has already implied he should be doing, more or less. But he hopes that volunteering for it himself with a bit more conviction will win him favour.

He doesn't know what he'll do if Cadogan agrees to it. He supposes he really will spy on Clarke, because he desperately wants mankind to transcend, and he doesn't want to destroy her brain to get there. So this is his only choice, isn't it?

 _Only choice_. What a grim oxymoron.

Cadogan doesn't keep him in suspense long. He nods right away, the angry clouds already clearing from his expression.

"Very good, Bellamy. I knew you'd see sense. You're right – there's no rush. But if you're going to win her trust again you've got a lot of work to do."

"I know. I can do this." He coughs. "For all mankind."

…...

Clarke is anxious as she walks Madi to school.

She's anxious about so many things she doesn't know where to start. She's worried about Madi's safety, most of all. She knows it's good for Madi to go back to school and get a bit of normal routine. It will be good for her to be surrounded by friends, too, and have some positive developments in her life for a change rather than only sitting home and watching her mother lose the plot. But all the same, Clarke is worried about letting Madi out of her sight, even for just the length of the day.

Motherhood is frightening, she decides. The funny thing is, she's pretty sure she didn't always find it this frightening. Her brain seems to be misfiring, and she doesn't like it.

She's not just worried about Madi's physical safety at school, either. She's concerned about Madi's emotional health. The sessions with Jackson seem to have helped a little with the panic attacks, but Clarke knows anxiety is not something that can be magically cured.

If it was, she sure as hell wouldn't be experiencing so much of it herself, right now.

She's alarmed by the way Madi lashed out at Bellamy this morning, too. The daughter she knew on Earth was pretty calm and cheerful, considering her anxious childhood spent half in hiding before Praimfaya. But it seems like everything that has happened since they came to Sanctum has been a kind of horrific last straw that has broken her daughter's strength.

Clarke rather knows how that feels.

"Clarke? Clarke, are you hearing me?" Madi asks, urgent, as if it is not the first time she has asked.

Clarke breathes a shaky breath, refocuses on her surroundings. A road. Taking Madi to school. This is not the place to spiral.

"Sorry, Madi. I just – a lot on my mind." She explains feebly.

Madi frowns at her. "You could talk to Jackson too, you know."

Clarke does not pretend to misunderstand her. "I know. Maybe I will. Just as soon as we've got this mess sorted out with Cadogan and -"

"No, Clarke. Stop putting it off." Madi snaps, an echo of the anger she showed to Bellamy this morning. "It's important. Do it _now_. I'm worried it might not wait until we've seen off Cadogan."

Clarke gasps. What's that supposed to mean? Is that her daughter doubting that she's in a fit state to make decisions or take care of her or function at all? Is that Madi snapping and turning against her, too, just as Bellamy turned against her and -

"I'm sorry, Clarke." Madi murmurs, more softly, pulling her into half a hug. "I don't mean to upset you. I'm just worried and sometimes – sometimes it seems to come out angry." She gulps loudly. "Do you think that's Sheidheda? Do you think he's still inside me a little bit, too?"

"I don't think it's that at all, Madi." Clarke rushes to assure her, keen to avoid her becoming any more anxious. They're approaching the school gates now and Clarke doesn't want them to part while Madi is upset. "I think it's a really normal reaction to stress. It's good to find a healthy way to let the anger and frustration out. Maybe you want to play some soccer with your friends after school before you come home? I know it must be tough for you to sit in the palace and watch me and Bellamy try to figure things out."

"I'd like that." Madi agrees at once.

"Great. I'll see you later, then. Have fun at school." She takes a careful breath. "And maybe I'll go call in on Jackson some time today."

Madi hugs her, then. Not a half hug, or a goodbye hug, or an average morning school run hug. But a full-on embrace of arms around her waist and squeezing her tight and pressing her head into her neck.

Huh. Her little girl has got taller, lately. And she's got taller _fast_. Looks like she must be growing up.

"Do it, Clarke. It'll be good, I promise."

Isn't she supposed to be the one reassuring her daughter? Or maybe they're allowed to reassure each other. Maybe Clarke is allowed to have truly two-way communication with the people she loves, rather than bearing everything on her own shoulders.

It's with that thought in mind that she sets off towards the medical centre in search of Jackson. It really does seem like a good idea, she has to admit. Her anxiety for her daughter threatens to spiral out of control. And she's worried about all her people, too, and she's missing her mother so much it hurts, and on top of all that she really is starting to freak out about Bellamy's cough.

She's scared of going to see Jackson, too. She's scared that once she opens the Pandora's box of worries in her head she won't be able to cram the lid back on. But honestly, she's getting a little desperate.

And like everything else about this real, raw, messy life she lives, she figures it's worth the risk.

…...

Bellamy knows he needs to spend some time with Clarke, if he's to worm information out of her successfully. He's not going to be a great inside man for his Shepherd if she thinks he's still the enemy.

But he has to admit, he doesn't really know _how_ to spend time with Clarke any more. He can remember how it used to work – they'd just be doing the same thing at the same time, and they'd take meals together, and on the very rare occasions they had nothing to do they'd hang around drinking moonshine together and talking about nothing in particular.

But he senses that offering her a drink will not go down well at the moment. And he knows he's certainly in the frame of mind to be a pathetically sad drunk. And anyway, he figures he needs to put a little thought into what questions to ask her to get information.

Maybe he's looking at it wrong, he wonders. Maybe he ought to be playing the long game here, too. Maybe he shouldn't be asking her the questions his Shepherd wants answered right now. Maybe he needs to earn her trust with lighter matters before he starts digging for more.

It's with that in mind that he heads back to the house when he's done talking to Cadogan. He doesn't have another job, after all. So he spends some time tidying the place, then finding more sheets and blankets so that he and Clarke can both have plenty of bedding. He learns that there is a cellar, too, and searches it for the kind of berry jam Madi likes, turning up six jars of the stuff. He figures a little domestic wizardry can only help him win his wife's trust.

The dust in the cellar has him coughing so he sits down after that and tries to spend some time reading. But it's not working at all well for him. He's taking in each individual word, but somehow they are not truly hanging together to form sentences. He's read the same page about Romulus and Remus a good twenty times, he thinks, and he's still no closer to making sense of it.

The worst thing? He's pretty sure he already knows this story, but his brain is refusing to line up the pieces.

He abandons his book and finds something else useful to do. He sorts through the Lightbournes' old wardrobes and puts aside some thing he thinks Clarke and Madi might want to make use of – straightforward and serviceable garments in dark colours, but at least they're in better condition than the old clothes the two of them are making do with at the moment. He takes a couple of pairs of underwear for himself, too, but of course he's wearing his robes every day. His Shepherd gave him a spare set and everything – he really is generous to those who are devoted to the cause.

It's about mid afternoon when he hears the door open. He bounds down the stairs towards it, then catches himself. A fit of breathless coughing forces him to reassess his behaviour. He shouldn't be running down the stairs. Just because he's sick and tired of being alone, desperate not to be stuck in his own head any longer, doesn't give him the right to run towards Clarke and Madi like he's happy to see them.

He adjusts his speed, walks carefully towards the door. It's only Clarke who's home, it turns out.

"No Madi?" He asks carefully.

"No. She wanted to play soccer after school. I'll go fetch her in an hour or so."

An hour. Does this mean he has a whole uninterrupted hour to practise spending time with Clarke once more? He doesn't know whether he's more excited at the thought of doing the Shepherd's bidding or at the thought of company, honestly.

"Are you doing anything right now?" He asks her, carefully light.

She frowns. "No. Why do you ask?"

"I wondered if you wanted to hang out in the living room for a while. I've been trying to do some chores while you're out and I could use a break." Honestly, it's almost the truth. He's exhausted and not at all sure if he can stand upright any longer.

"Chores?" She asks, apparently more curious than annoyed, now.

"Yeah. Come on, have a seat and I'll tell you what I've been up to."

To his utter amazement, she does take a seat. She walks straight into the living room and plops herself down on the couch, leaving him to follow in her wake and sink into a nearby chair. He can't quite believe how easily she agreed to this. Is she as starved for friendly conversation as he is?

Does she really miss him so very much?

No. He can't afford to think about that. He dives straight into a list of his achievements for the day, slightly robotic, but at least he's saying _something_.

"I've sorted through the cellar – there's a lot of food there and what looks like some alcoholic drink, too. I brought some of that jam up for Madi. The kitchen's full of it now."

Clarke actually laughs. It's a cautious laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Great. You filled the kitchen with jam. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Sorted through some bedding and some clothes. There are clean sheets on your bed and a few clothes I thought you might be interested in. There are more things in the wardrobes but they're more elaborate. They didn't look so much like your kind of thing."

"You picked out _clothes_ for me?" She asks, frowning.

Too late, he realises it. Choosing clothes is quite a familial thing to do, isn't it? It surpasses passing politeness and is more the kind of thing a lover or an affectionate family member might do.

In short, it makes him look like a real husband.

He knows that's what he's supposed to want, here. He's supposed to be trying to win her trust and act closer to her. But he's scared himself, because he did this entirely by accident. He honestly didn't choose those clothes out of any artificial attempt to look like a good husband. He genuinely just thought she might be comfortable wearing something that's in better condition.

He runs with it. He tries to convince himself he's saving the situation.

"Yeah. I chose you some clothes." A cough. "Don't know if you noticed, but we're married now." He risks teasing. "I figured what you're wearing looks a bit well-worn so I put some things out you might want to take a look at."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll take a look later." She says, in a tone of voice that makes him wonder whether she's closer to laughter or crying.

He decides it's time to move the conversation on. "So what have you been up to all day?"

"I checked in on Raven and Gabriel to see if there's anything I can do to help with the flame." She says, and he wonders how honest she's being. "And then I stopped by to see Jackson."

All at once, he panics. Is she sick? Has he been overlooking that, so wrapped up in his own sadness and exhaustion and lingering cough?

"Why? What's wrong? Are you sick?" The questions tumble out of him.

She looks at him strangely. "Not physically. I just – ah – needed to talk to him."

Oh. _Oh_. It's like that. And somehow that's even worse, really, than the thought of her being physically sick. Because many illnesses can be cured with a simple dose of medication. But he suspects that fixing her erratic mood and shaky tearfulness will be a hell of a lot more complicated than that.

"I get that. Did it help?" He asks softly, no longer sure whether he's _acting_ the doting husband or treading a little too close to _living_ his role.

"I think so. A bit. I don't know. I'm still – yeah." She gives a hollow laugh. "I'm still processing. Didn't expect to walk into you the moment I got home."

He almost snaps at her. He almost asks her where the hell else she thought he'd be, seeing as he has nothing to do and nowhere to go and no one to see. But he stops himself, tries to see things from where she's sitting. It must have been hard for her to tell him about talking to Jackson, he figures. He's pretty sure the old Clarke would have seen that as an admission of weakness, and somehow he finds himself wanting to show her he's proud of her strength.

"I'm sorry for unsettling you. I think it's really good that you went and spoke to Jackson."

She nods. "Yeah. I think it was for the best. I should go back again in a few days." She swallows loudly. "Would you think about going to see him yourself?"

All at once, he stiffens. He feels his jaw grow tense and tears smart in his eyes. What is she saying? Is she saying that his faith is a mental illness? After everything they've done to try to understand each other, these last couple of days? And anyway, he can't go speak to Jackson. Jackson must hate him.

"I don't think I can do that." He mutters, voice tight. "Jackson won't want to speak to me. And anyway, he'll probably try to convince me that my faith is just madness or whatever."

"He wouldn't be like that." Clarke assures him right away. "I promise. He wouldn't judge you at all. He's _Jackson_. You know he's basically incapable of hurting anyone."

Bellamy nods, stiff. He coughs absently. He knows Jackson is a good guy. But he's seen a lot of people he thought were good turn against him, this week.

"I just wanted to suggest you should think about it." Clarke continues. "I don't want to pry but I get the sense you're not doing too well. Nothing to do with your faith – just... yeah." She runs out of words, or out of confidence. Or maybe both.

That's what scares him into honesty, really. He's not used to seeing Clarke lack words or confidence. It makes him want to do better and meet her half way.

"You might be right. I don't know. I've just been so tired all the time since I got back, even when I sleep a lot."

"That's OK. That happens sometimes." She reassures him, tone soothing. It's nice. It feels a bit like a hug, only in words.

So he gathers his courage and carries on. "My head doesn't feel right. Not like I'm drunk or I've had jobi nuts or whatever. Just – it's so fuzzy, all the time. Like I've only just woken up, but permanently. It's like I can't think as fast as usual."

"And again, that's pretty normal when your mental health is really low." Clarke tells him quietly. "I didn't finish my apprenticeship, and Jackson knows way more about this kind of stuff than I do. But exhaustion and reduced mental function can both be linked with depression. You were alone for a long time on Etherea. It would be understandable if your mental health suffered."

"I wasn't _alone_." He snaps. "I had Doucette and the light of the Shepherd."

"Sorry. I misspoke." She says, frighteningly meek. "I just mean -"

"Sorry." It's his turn to apologise now. "I know what you're trying to say. Maybe – maybe I should go speak to Jackson."

"It's worth it. I promise. I found it pretty difficult to walk in there today but I'm pleased I did."

He nods carefully. He seems to remember he went into this conversation planning to win Clarke's trust and instead he just seems to have moaned at her about how crappy he's feeling. That's not likely to help his Shepherd much, is it?

That's not likely to help them all transcend.

He's on the point of trying again, trying to refocus the conversation and veer towards Clarke's memories of the flame, when she speaks up.

"Do you still have that charcoal I made you take back?" She asks, with a hint of her old decisiveness.

"Yeah. Why?"

"We're going to draw. Jackson recommended I make more time in my day for drawing. And it'll do you good to try something new and sit and chat with me for a bit longer. I promise."

He believes her. He's not sure whether that's because she's more or less a doctor or whether it's because she's _Clarke_ , but he believes her to the Earth and back. He reaches for the charcoal, left resting carefully beside his precious book.

"Do you have paper?" He asks her.

"Yeah. Here." She hands him a good half a dozen sheets, and he smiles to himself slightly. Clearly she's expecting him to do a fair amount of drawing, here.

He picks up the charcoal, rests the paper over his book. He's not sure where to start, here. Does he just press it to the page and hope for the best? It's not the logistics or the mechanics of the process that are puzzling him so much as what the hell to try to draw. He's never done this before, and he feels like he should start simple.

"What are you drawing?" He asks Clarke, partly to procrastinate, but largely because she did say it would do him good to sit here and make the most of the company.

"Madi. I draw her a lot." She says easily. "I used to have a lot of sketches round my bedroom in Shallow Valley. It helped keep me calm and remind me that the people I love are OK – some of them, anyway." She says darkly. "Would it be OK if I started putting up pictures in our bedroom here?"

"Yeah. Of course." That's an easy compromise to make, he figures. He certainly wouldn't mind plastering the wall of their bedroom in sketches and making it feel more truly _theirs_.

"What are you drawing?" She asks him in turn.

"I'm not sure." He coughs, uses the time to collect his thoughts. "I'm wondering about drawing something from Etherea. The mountain or the cave. But I don't want to upset you."

"I think that's a really good idea." Clarke says right away. There are tears in her eyes, but she's smiling a determined smile. "Maybe that will help us to keep working on understanding each other better."

So that's what he does. That's his first experience of drawing – a big pointy mountain with an anomaly cloud beneath its peak.

It's quite possibly the least accurate drawing in the whole of human history, but he's proud of having drawn it all the same.

…...

Clarke is almost having a good day, she decides, the following morning. Breakfast was less agonising today. Having done some drawing with Bellamy the previous afternoon and chatted about how they're both struggling seems to have done them some good. And although Madi is still evidently upset about the state of their home life, she did thank Bellamy for the jam and ask if all three of them could sit and draw together another time, so she feels like that's progress.

She's in the middle of a meeting with Indra when Jackson bursts in.

"Clarke. It's Bellamy."

She panics. She's been on the edge of doing that for several long days now, but in this moment she's properly panicking, heart racing in her ears, breath coming short and sharp and erratic as she shakes in her seat. It's Bellamy? What does that mean? Has he betrayed her again, hurt someone she loves? Or is his mental state even worse than she realised – has he hurt himself or told Jackson something truly worrying?

Jackson realises what's going on, walks calmly towards her.

"Clarke – I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. You're OK. And Bellamy will be fine too. Everyone's safe, Clarke. I just saw Madi in the school playground on my way past and Bellamy is going to be OK."

She nods, fights to regain control of her breathing. Long breaths out, like she's always telling Madi. Calm. Everyone's safe.

"What's happened?" She asks when she can talk comfortably once more. Calm. Everyone's safe.

"He's sick, but it's not critical. He's resting in bed at the minute."

In bed. In the bed she should have insisted he sleep in right from the very beginning. She knew he was sick, damn it. She knew that cough was bad. Why didn't she fight harder to take care of him?

"It's his cough." She concludes easily – or rather, it's a conclusion that's easy to reach, but an admission that's difficult to say.

"Yes. Bronchitis. It wouldn't be that serious but with him being so exhausted and malnourished as well, he's quite unwell. He passed out just outside the tavern. He's feverish and very tired now but he's got some medication and he'll be fine as long as he rests and keeps taking his meds."

"As long as he rests properly in the bed." She points out, with a whole heap of bitterness directed at herself.

"He told me about that." Jackson says softly. "He told me I wasn't allowed to blame you _at all_. He was very clear on that, even though he was half asleep at the time."

She allows herself a wry grin at that. She can just imagine Bellamy behaving like that, really. Or rather – she could imagine the old Bellamy from before Etherea acting that way, and it's awfully reassuring to know that this Bellamy is capable of much the same.

"Could I go see him?" She asks, turning to include Indra in the conversation. "Is that OK? I want to make sure he's alright and check he takes his meds."

Indra looks rather firm, brows drawn. "Clarke. Of course you will go and see him. He's _Bellamy,_ and you're Clarke. I'd expect nothing less. Don't even consider rescheduling this meeting until he's fighting fit again. It'll buy us some time with Cadogan, too – I'll tell him that you're playing the devoted wife at his bedside."

Clarke swallows heavily. She's not sure she'll be _playing_ the devoted wife at his bedside. Rather, she thinks she will be genuinely devoted to him until she's sure he's on the mend. She can't believe she let it get this bad, is furious with herself for not insisting on investigating the state of his health sooner.

She leaves the meeting without further ado. She doesn't run home, because she's practising being a little calmer, and she figures there's no need to arrive breathless and panicky. But she does walk swiftly, does fling the front door open with a fair amount of force.

She's briefly, horrifically derailed in the hallway by a terrible passing thought. A little unwelcome voice whispering in her head, telling her life would be much simpler if Bellamy just went and died from his stupid cough. No more transcendence, no more tears at the breakfast table.

She shuts that voice right down. There would be no more drawing, either. No more understanding. And no more little fleeting glimpses of human warmth, no more glimmers of the old Bellamy whose hugs used to make life worthwhile.

This is it. This is the moment that she decides she's never losing him again.

It's simply not an option. She's loved him for so long, lost him so often, and here and now she swears that she's not willing to lose him again. She realises, all at once, in a rush of warm affection, that she'll never be ready to let him go. That whatever robes he wears or faith he follows, he's still the same guy who brought her back to life when she fought Josephine.

Part of him might still be lost on Etherea, but she's just going to have to deal with that.

She strides down the hallway, stops at the bathroom to pick up a cloth and basin of water. Jackson said Bellamy was feverish, and she figures a little gentle wiping of his forehead might be a nice thing for him. That might be a good way of showing him she cares. And then she heads straight to the bedroom, eases the door open. She doesn't want to wake him if he's asleep.

He's lying in the bed, eyes closed, resting fitfully. He fidgets a little in his sleep, snuggling more deeply into the pillow, and honestly it makes her breath catch in her throat. He looks so much like his younger self that it _hurts_.

She walks closer, sits herself on her side of the bed. Interesting that he's sleeping on the side she always leaves empty, she notes. She's been taking only half the bed just in case he should decide to join her, and sure enough, he's arranged himself perfectly on that half of the bed despite his sickness.

He stirs a little, mumbles something she cannot understand.

"Shh. You're OK. I've got you." She murmurs, wringing out her cloth and carefully wiping his forehead. Yes. Jackson was right – feverish. Really very feverish. How did she not notice he was this sick?

She brushes his curls out of the way, next. She just can't help it. She figures it's not nice for him to lie there with them sticking to his sweaty – and now clean but damp – face. So she pulls his hair gently back, rubs softly at his scalp.

His eyes flutter open. He looks dazed but basically aware, she thinks.

"Hey, you." She greets him softly. "Could you stop it with the near-death experiences, please? You're going to turn me grey."

She's not sure how much of that he gets. He smiles slightly, but doesn't try to answer. That's fine. She keeps stroking his hair a little longer, wonders about starting to hum some kind of soothing melody.

"Clarke?" He mutters, voice somewhat croaky.

"Yes? Can I get you something? Water?"

He shakes his head slightly. "Just – thank you."

"Any time. It's what wives are for." She jokes, still stroking his hair.

He smiles slightly. He turns his face, as if he's trying to nuzzle into her hand. Huh. That's an interesting development, she thinks. She supposes it's probably just natural to seek a little gentle physical comfort when he's sick like this. That's why she takes her other hand, reaches out to clasp his fingers where they grip the bedclothes.

"Get some sleep." She murmurs.

"Stay with me?" He asks, in the shaky voice of a small child.

"Of course. I'll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything at all."

She wasn't there for him, on Etherea. But she damn well intends to be here for him now, to be right by his side while he recovers.

It's difficult to manage that literally, of course. Madi needs to be picked up from school, but by then Jackson has popped by to check on Bellamy and Clarke manages to send a message to Gaia to pick up Madi. And then they eat supper with Clarke as a kind of picnic in Bellamy's sick room, sitting around and watching over him. It's the longest Clarke has let go of his hand or stopped stroking his hair all day, but she knows it's important to take care of Madi, too.

She'd never forgive herself if something happened to her daughter while she was so worried about her husband. And the list of things she will never forgive herself for is already quite long enough, thank you very much.

Late that evening, when Gaia is gone and Madi is asleep down the corridor, Clarke climbs into bed at Bellamy's side. Of course she does – it's their marriage bed.

And anyway, she did promise Bellamy that she would stay by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. I've spent my entire adult life just waiting for the next big disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and happy new year! Here's another chapter, with huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing as always. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: as before, plus some more explicit discussion of anxiety in a snippet of therapy session.

Bellamy enjoys having Clarke nurse him through his sickness more than he probably should.

He doesn't take in much of it, at first. His brain is still fuzzy with fever as well as that fog which might be to do with the state of his head. There's just a lot of warmth, some tender touches to his face that make him crave a hug. And there's her body next to him in the bed, too, and that makes him feel safe.

As he becomes more aware, he starts to think about it more deeply. He notices that she's here in person all of the time – which is rather different from the way his Shepherd had others take care of him on his return from Etherea, he notes. He observes, too, that she looks really worried. When he manages to stir himself to say a few coherent words, he spends most of them on reassuring her that he's fine.

It's interesting that she's so determined to keep him alive, he notes. He wonders if that's the selfish love his faith teaches him to be wary of – like she _needs_ him still breathing, or something. But while he lies here and she fusses over him, he decides that it doesn't _feel_ selfish. It feels generous and warm and good.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind wonders whether maybe she's only desperate to keep him alive for the sake of the alliance. But that can't be true, he decides, as he becomes more coherent. If she just wanted him alive for the sake of the alliance she'd have him looked after in the med centre, not wipe his clammy forehead herself.

He really likes it. He loves it so much more than he ought to, in fact. All this human contact - both the physical touches and the huge amount of time spent in her company - soothe some of the lingering loneliness he was feeling on Etherea, and which has endured even since he returned.

It's a couple of days before he can manage a real conversation. And even then, he sticks with basic exchanges asking for food or drink or thanking her for taking care of him. These things are easy to say without too much concentration, and besides which, they feel _safe_.

Not like craving a hug.

A couple more days pass in much that fashion before they have a conversation that is really about anything meaningful. When finally they do, he can't take the credit. She's the one who starts it.

She starts it by giving him another damn book.

"Here. I thought you might be getting bored now you're mostly awake." She says, holding it out to him.

He's not getting bored, for the record. He thinks he might still be too exhausted to be bored. Or maybe it's only that he finds it strangely engaging to witness Clarke pottering around the place and taking care of him, after so long in very limited company on Etherea.

"I think I'm too tired to read." He says carefully. That seems like a better plan than upsetting her by saying he really doesn't want another blasted book from her.

"Have a go with this. It's a kids' book." She points out, and he looks at the cover at last to see that she's right. "Thought it would be nice and simple while you're still exhausted."

He nods slowly. Why does she have to be so damn thoughtful? It's a side of her personality he always loved, he remembers, right from the moment he watched her hum a lullaby and slit Atom's throat. And it's a side that has been easy to forget about, since he returned from Etherea and she was so furious with him – or even before that, when she showed so little regard for him in the fight for Shallow Valley and all the drama that went with it.

But right now, she's making it very difficult for him to remember he doesn't believe in love.

"Ancient Egypt." He observes, reading the title and taking in the illustrations of pyramids.

"Yeah. Sorry. The Lightbournes have a lot of useless artefacts, but they don't have a wide range of kids' books about ancient Earth history." She tells him, with a shrug and a half smile.

He laughs. It's not the funniest thing he's ever heard, of course. But it's the funniest thing Clarke has said to him in a while. And it's a frankly absurd situation in many ways, that they are living amongst these relics of a previous regime, and he likes the robust way she's poking fun at it. So it is that he laughs loudly and for a long time.

It gets better. Clarke joins in, chuckling softly, shaking her head as if she's disappointed with both of them for the moment of irreverent humour.

Huh. He wonders if this is one of those moments she was talking about at breakfast last week – the little joys of humanity that make real life worthwhile.

He quashes that thought quickly and gets back to the book. A conversation about a book is safer than love and laughter, he's pretty sure.

"Thanks, Clarke. Really. I've always wanted to learn more about pyramids." Damn it. No. That sounded too much like a joke, too much like he wants to laugh with her again.

"I knew it." She smiles softly at him, and it hurts his heart. "Go on, get started with it. I don't mind."

He swallows slowly. "What are you going to do while I read?"

She shrugs. "I'll be fine."

"No, I mean – you should take some time to do your drawing or whatever." He insists. "Have you had anything to keep you sane while you've been here taking care of me?"

"I've done a little bit of drawing." She says, and he thinks it might be a lie. At the very least she has done no drawing while he's been awake.

"You have to remember to take care of yourself, too." He chastises her firmly.

"I will. I _have._ " She pauses, frowns slightly. "Honestly I think it's done me good to be forced to take some quiet time to just slow down and... process everything."

Time to process everything. He frowns at that thought. Time for her heart to catch up with her head.

Time to fall out of love with him?

…...

Clarke finds it very odd to leave Bellamy, the first morning she pursues her own tasks after his sickness. He's still on bed rest, napping and reading at home without her. But he's certainly not seriously ill any more, and she knows it's perfectly safe to leave him alone, but she just _worries_ about him, OK?

To be fair, she worries a lot in general, these days. And the fact that it's snowing again this morning is hardly helping.

Anyway, she needs to leave Bellamy this morning no matter how nervous she is. Because today Cadogan is coming to Sanctum, and Clarke knows she needs to be there to meet him.

The meeting with Cadogan goes about as well as could be expected, all things considered. He doesn't actually torture anyone she loves before her very eyes, so she counts that a success. Sure, he _threatens_ people quite a lot – he's very open about his dissatisfaction with the work Raven and Gabriel are doing to supposedly salvage the flame. But Clarke and Indra manage to calm the storm, more or less, and remind him that Bellamy's sickness has naturally slowed proceedings down somewhat.

Cadogan looks like he doesn't much care about Bellamy being ill, Clarke notes. She's really very hurt on her husband's behalf – he seems to have put much more effort into supporting Cadogan's cause than Cadogan has ever put into caring about him.

The meeting concludes, and Clarke starts wandering back to the palace. She wants to check in on Bellamy. That will soothe her anxiety, she knows, to see that he's still healing well. And then Madi will come home from school this afternoon and that will quiet down her nervousness a bit more.

 _Soothe_ her anxiety? _Quiet_ her nervousness? It really does suck that the best she is hoping for is to worry a bit more mildly.

That's why she changes tack and heads towards the medical centre and a chance to see Jackson again, instead. Bellamy was right the other morning, when he said that she should look after herself, too. And Madi was right to say that Clarke should make sorting out her own head a priority _now_ , not wait until after this crisis or the next one or the next. She's not been back to Jackson for a second appointment, what with Bellamy's sickness escalating so suddenly.

She wanders into the med centre, peeps around the door. Jackson's there, as luck would have it, reviewing some notes.

"Hey. How are you doing?" He asks her warmly.

She smiles stiffly. "I've been better. Have you got a minute?"

He nods, sets down the notes right away. "I do only have literally a couple of minutes. But I can book for you to come back tomorrow if you need?"

"Yeah. That might be good." She concedes, proud of herself for making future plans about this and taking her healing seriously, rather than fleeing at the idea.

"Great. Ten tomorrow morning. What's urgent here and now?" He asks, gesturing her to a seat.

She perches on the seat, although she knows she can't be here long. She gathers her thoughts, tries to decide through the hot fizz of anxiety what's the most important place to start.

"I'm just so sick of feeling out of my depth all the time." She begins. "It's like we're only killing time with Cadogan, waiting for everything to blow up in our faces. There's never a long term solution. I feel like I've spent my entire adult life just waiting for the next big disaster."

He nods. "I can understand that. We can talk more about it tomorrow. Shall we think about some short term ways to make you feel safe and remember that the people you care about are safe, too, to tide you over till then?"

She nods eagerly. "Yeah. That would be helpful. So far my coping strategy is basically staring at Madi and Bellamy and checking they're still breathing." She admits with a nervous laugh.

"That's not a bad start. It could help you ground yourself and reassure yourself." He says, calm as always. "Some people find hugs and physical contact very soothing when they're anxious."

She gulps a little. Yes. She did find that she touched Bellamy's face or hand a lot while he was sick, and that really helped. But she can hardly do that now he's fully conscious and doesn't need looking after so closely. Maybe she could hug Madi more often. That does sound calming.

"And I've been trying to draw more like you suggested." She offers, unsure.

"That's good. And did you try the breathing we talked about?"

She laughs slightly. "Not so much. I'm not good at stopping what I'm doing for long enough to just concentrate on breathing." Even while she was caring for Bellamy this last week, she struggled with that. She always had to be pottering around and getting a clean cloth, or something, rather than simply breathing and being alone with her thoughts.

She thinks that's maybe because she dislikes her own thoughts so damn much, these days.

"OK. So maybe that's a project to keep working on tonight. And I'll see you tomorrow for a real appointment and we'll see what we can do." He offers brightly.

"Thanks, Jackson." She swallows, considers her next words. "Who do _you_ talk to? To deal with all these people offloading on you?"

He takes her question seriously, frowns slightly. "Nate mostly, I guess. But honestly I find this kind of work really rewarding and it doesn't get me down too much. I'd have liked to have studied more of this side of healthcare, but with the life I've lived I had to get on with surgery."

Huh. Clarke seems to remember she quite liked surgery, once upon a time. That she found it really satisfying and intriguing and fulfilling.

Maybe she and Jackson could work together more, in the future – if they get a future. Maybe when she's stopped dealing with one more damn disaster after another she could settle into the med centre and learn more about how to remove a spleen.

Maybe there's something out there beyond fear after all.

…...

Bellamy is too happy to see Clarke come home. He knows that. He's only been without her for an hour or two, but her absence hits him hard when he's grown so used to having her make a fuss of him while he's been sick.

He's not that sick any more, as it happens. His lungs feel pretty clear, and although he feels weak and tired, he's sure he could get out of bed and do a few light chores around the place if he had to. Light chores seem to be about the only thing for him to spend his time on, after all – except spying on his wife. And he's hardly had much appetite to do that when she's been so devoted to looking after him.

He doesn't get up and fold the laundry, though he supposes he could. He lies there and reads his book, and then Clarke comes home, and he grins a broad grin, relieved that his Shepherd is not here to see him behaving so affectionately.

And yet, even once he's had that thought, he keeps grinning.

He only stops grinning, in fact, when he processes how tense Clarke looks, how tight her jaw is and how shaky her movements.

"Are you doing alright?" He asks her softly.

"I'm better than I was. I called in on Jackson after the meeting. And now I'm going to draw." She offers, with a game attempt at brightness.

"The meeting was that bad?" He prompts gently.

She snorts, and now when she looks at him, she looks _angry_. "Yes. It was. Your _Shepherd_ has it into his head that threatening Raven and even Gabriel – who's still wearing white, by the way – will help him get his war. And I am _trying_ to understand, I swear it, but I'm scared, OK? I'm scared." She concludes, reaching for her sketching supplies with trembling hands.

Bellamy gulps. He simply doesn't know what to say. He's been living in a blissful bubble, these last few days, having Clarke take care of him and remind him that human contact can be a rather lovely thing. But now she's gone and thrown the conflict between his new faith and his old friends right in his face. He hates the thought of his Shepherd threatening Raven. He lived with Raven for six long years, considered her almost like another sister.

And yet he stood by and watched them take Clarke to MCAP. He remembers that. It was grim, but he let it happen. So he supposes if his Shepherd were to judge that Raven should be tortured, he'd stand by and watch that happen too.

He has a feeling he wasn't always like this. He used to fight for the people he cared about – he remembers it well.

But he doesn't care about any individual now, of course.

He only cares about all mankind.

Ugh. His brain still feels too heavy and slow to process all this. All he knows is that Clarke is sad and scared, and it's at least partly his fault. He doesn't even know how to stop her looking at him like that.

"I'm sorry you're scared." He offers weakly.

She looks unimpressed, he thinks. He doesn't blame her. He feels pretty unimpressed with himself, right now. He'd do anything to return to that calm stillness of the last week and the gentle touch of her stroking his hair.

He spreads his hands, helpless, has another go at talking. "I don't know what to say, Clarke. Thank you for taking care of me this last week. Thank you for the book about pyramids. Thank you for _everything_." The word catches slightly in his throat. "You're the kindest arranged wife I could have. And I'm sorry this situation sucks but I don't know what to do about it."

 _Give up your faith_. He can practically hear the words gathering on her tongue, can see her on the verge of pointing out to him that there's one very obvious thing he could do to make her life easier, thank you very much.

But she doesn't say it. She takes a couple of long, loud breaths, and clutches her charcoal tightly.

And then she nods, just once, and sits herself on the bed at his side. She's not stroking his forehead, which is a shame, because she's got her hands full of charcoal and she plainly intends to draw. But at least she's close by and he can almost feel the warmth radiating from her skin across the small space between them.

He's probably not supposed to want to hug her this badly. That probably counts as singling her out. In his defence, he thinks he'd take a hug from anyone, right now.

She keeps breathing loudly, long, too careful to be truly natural. He wonders if that's some kind of coping strategy, and if it is, he thinks it sounds like it isn't working out very well for her. It sounds _laboured_ and like she's having a tough time.

Is hugging a coping strategy? Could they both help each other out?

Clarke speaks up before he can take that dangerous thought any further.

"Thank you. However tough this is, I appreciate you being... decent."

He almost laughs. They've been best friends almost as long as they've known each other, and now they're husband and wife. And the kindest thing she can say about him, in this moment, is that he's _decent_?

She really must have spent that time at his bedside learning how to fall out of love with him.

…...

Clarke makes a point of spending lots of time with Madi, in the days that follow. After that week at Bellamy's bedside she thinks it will do her good to see more of her daughter. And after more conversation with Jackson, she's realised that she genuinely does take comfort in spending time with Madi. It's not just because seeing her alive and well balances out her fear of losing her – it's also because with Madi she can pretend to be a normal person for a while, a devoted mum who has hopes of a future with her little girl.

They go for a walk around the village, now that the snow has melted. Fresh air and exercise are good for mental wellbeing. And to be honest, Clarke hasn't had much chance to explore their new home since she found herself here. Maybe getting to know Sanctum better will help her, again, with that feeling of being a normal woman who can have a future with her family.

Sorry – with her _daughter_ , not her family. She presumes she has no hope of a future with her husband, once the alliance has run its course and their marriage is no longer a political necessity. Not that she wants to stay married to the religious fanatic who has replaced the love of her life, of course. She just thinks it might be nice to feel like she has a bit of a choice over her own relationship status. That's the kind of thing a person might expect to exert some control over, if they lived a normal, peaceful life.

The walk round the village is a great idea. They march through mud, and Clarke remembers how stomping successfully through heavy ground used to bring a little everyday sense of achievement, back on Earth. They pass by Echo and Hope, also taking a walk together, and the women all wave at each other heartily and exchange a few words. Clarke has to admit that hitting it off with Echo is an unexpected positive side effect of Bellamy's religious experience.

Yeah, who is she kidding? She'd rather have Bellamy back to his old self and Echo hating her, any day. She'd take that over her new friendship with Echo and her broken marriage with Bellamy.

They see other friends, too. Miller stops to joke a little with Madi. Murphy and Emori are laughing with some Sanctum natives.

It's all going rather smoothly until they bump into Octavia.

Meeting Octavia is not uncomfortable because of any antagonism between the three of them, of course. It's awkward because Clarke and Madi live with the big brother she is currently refusing to speak to – or even speak _about_.

"Hey. How are you both doing?" Octavia asks brightly.

"Not bad." Clarke lies cheerfully. Or perhaps it's not quite a lie – she really has enjoyed this walk. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine. It's lovely to spend so much time with Hope." Octavia says.

"We just saw her." Clarke offers, because she seems to remember that's how light conversation works – vaguely related statements and questions, offered in succession. It's something she still feels somewhat out of practice at after all those years in Shallow Valley.

"With Echo, I bet?" Octavia seems to be attempting a teasing tone. "I'm happy for them, honestly. They both deserve some better luck than life has handed them so far."

Well. That's the end of the light conversation, then. Clarke nods heavily. Madi is shifting from foot to foot – even Clarke can't tell whether that's boredom or anxiety brewing, and she's lived with the girl for six years.

"How is he?" Octavia asks, all at once, the words bursting out of her a little too loudly.

Clarke doesn't bother asking who she's talking about. But she does allow herself to note that it's an interesting development to hear Octavia asking after her brother's health at last.

"Much better. He's still resting most of the time but he's out of the woods."

Octavia nods. "That's good." She offers feebly.

Clarke hesitates, wonders how much to say.

To hell with it. Octavia used to be the most important person in Bellamy's life, and she deserves to know the whole truth.

"He's a little more... himself. I mean, he still believes in all this crap about transcendence. But he's more _kind_. Talkative, too. He even jokes sometimes like he used to."

Madi snorts. Clarke knows she's not impressed. She knows that her daughter's disappointment in Bellamy is a very sore spot, at the moment.

But Octavia just frowns thoughtfully.

Clarke pushes her luck a little further. "You could come see him, if you want." She suggests. "He won't throw himself into your arms or tell you you're his beloved sister or whatever. But he'll have a civil conversation and thank you for visiting, I'm pretty sure." She'd be willing to bet on it, if she lived a life that had any place for such pointless pastimes as gambling.

"I'll think about it." Octavia says quietly.

Clarke takes that for the minor miracle it is, and takes Madi to continue their walk around the village.

…...

Bellamy seems to be getting a lot of visitors since he started feeling a little better, he notes. He occasionally allows himself to wonder whether Clarke had something to do with it – he can just imagine the woman who once slipped a pillow beneath his head while he was napping on her couch now appointing herself to keep visitors away while he was really unwell, then round them up and urge them through the door once he's a little better but bored of his sickbed. That seems like the kind of fiercely caring thing she'd do.

He's been pleasantly surprised by all the guests. He was half expecting Doucette, he has to admit. But he was stunned to find Miller knocking at the door and handing him a plate of cookies, when their last conversation was that horrible confrontation on Bardo. And Emori has called in three days running, now, for no reason at all but to chat with him.

He supposes this is the kind of thing Clarke meant by moments that make real life worthwhile. Encounters that make him feel loved and valued and make him realise that people care when he is sick.

He's not so unwell, now. He could definitely get out of bed and get on with his limited range of tasks. But he doesn't mind spending a little longer recovering from the exhaustion of Etherea as much as his recent illness. And anyway, he wouldn't want to annoy Clarke. She's still making a fuss of him, even if she's now doing it through firm instructions to rest rather than gentle touches on his hand or face. He's already upset her quite enough, recently, and if she wants him to stay in bed a bit longer that's one way in which he can do as she wishes for a change.

And yet, even after all these visitors and all this attention, he's still shocked when his sister shows up.

"Bellamy? Can I come in?" She asks, uncharacteristically shy, knocking softly at the bedroom door.

He nods, then looks around the room as if hoping Clarke might appear out of thin air. It's funny – only a couple of weeks ago he stood in a room on Bardo and faced Clarke and Octavia as they ranted and raved at him in unison. But now he's certain on some instinctive level that his wife would have his back, if she were here. She might not agree with him, but she'd treat his opinions with respect and argue logically rather than hurtfully. That's what they've always done, the two of them, apart from that first encounter in Bardo when they were both so overwhelmed and threw angry words at each other.

But he knows Octavia well enough to know there's no guarantee she will be like that. She's more than capable of lashing out at him and hurting him, if she judges that he deserves it. And in his experience, her judgement can be a very flimsy thing.

Today, though, it seems she is not here to criticise. Or at least, she does not start out confrontational.

"How are you feeling?" She asks simply.

"Much better. Thanks. Have a seat if you want."

She doesn't sit, though. She stands, hands clasped awkwardly in front of her, and casts around the room as if hoping a neutral topic of conversation will drop down from the ceiling and present itself to her.

It does, in a manner of speaking.

"There are a lot of sketches on the walls. Are they all Clarke's?"

He looks around, sees them with new eyes. She's been putting them up so gradually, a new piece appearing every couple of hours she spends drawing at his side, that he never quite realised how many there were.

"Yeah. She draws a lot. And she wanted to put them up to make the place feel more like home." He offers.

She nods, bites her lip. Pauses a moment, then asks her next question. "Has it worked?"

He gives a hollow laugh. "I'm not sure. It feels more comfortable than it did at first." He offers, talking both about the marriage and the palace.

Octavia nods again. "That's good." She offers. "You look more... well than when I last saw you. I guess it's been good to get some rest?"

"Yeah." He agrees.

It's funny. This is a painstaking conversation, and it ought to be tragic given he grew up with this sister and they used to love each other so comfortably. But strangely, he doesn't feel sad about how desperately they are both fishing for words at all. He feels if anything _optimistic_. Everyone has to start somewhere, right? And he and Octavia have rebuilt their relationship from similarly awful lows before now.

Not that he wants them to rebuild their relationship. Obviously. He doesn't love her particularly.

He's surprised when Octavia clears her throat and starts talking about something rather more meaningful.

"Do you remember Sparta?" She asks carefully.

"Sparta?" He echoes. Yeah, he remembers a few of the stories about Greek history he used to tell her. His brain may not be firing on all cylinders, but he hasn't completely lost his mind.

"Do you remember what you used to tell me about Sparta? The way the kids were all taken off to these military schools and brought up to only fight and not love? You used to say that was the worst thing, to live without love. You'd tell me all these horror stories about Sparta to remind me to hide beneath the floor. To tell me that as long as I stayed with you and Mum and the guards didn't take me away, we'd still have love. And that love was the most important thing of all." She concludes, tears rolling thickly down her cheeks.

He swallows, nods heavily. He does remember that, actually. But he's had cause to rethink a few things, these last couple of months. Being stranded on an inhospitable mountainside will do that to a guy.

"From where I'm standing, Bardo looks an awful lot like Sparta." Octavia mutters, barely above a whisper.

He nods to that, too. He nods because he can see the resemblance she's talking about, and he doesn't know how to answer in words. He cannot even begin to explain to her that he is simultaneously the big brother she used to know and yet _not_ that man any more.

And most of all he cannot figure out whether she's right.

She turns to leave, then. She strides to the door, tears still falling, and all at once he doesn't want her to go. He cannot watch her walk out while she's so upset and he's done nothing to stop it. The horror in his chest at that thought is a lot like the horror he feels every time he upsets Clarke.

Is that love? He fears it might be.

He clears his throat and says what he can. "Thanks for visiting. It was good to see you."

She nods, her back still to him. "You too."

"Take care, Octavia. And – I really do appreciate it." He's not sure what he appreciates – the fact she still notices whether he lives or dies, or the distraction from his boredom, or the terrifying food for thought.

She turns then. She moves her head just far enough to smile right at him, and although it's a strained smile, it's there.

"Any time, big brother. Take care of that wife of yours. And – remember Sparta."

She's gone, then. She walks straight out the door and leaves him to wonder what happens now.

Take care of his wife? Remember Sparta?

He's not sure he can do either of those things without disappointing his Shepherd. And frankly, he thinks he's already disappointed enough people to last a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. It's complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter that's actually about friendship for a change. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

It is with mixed feelings that Bellamy puts on his robes for his first day out and about since his illness.

Who is he kidding? He's really not looking forward to it at all. It's been nice to get some proper rest at last, and to have Clarke and visitors fussing over him. And he really had forgotten how silly he feels wearing this big robe Clarke once called ridiculous. In the grand scheme of things, his faith is important to him so he's more than happy to wear the thing. He just doesn't see why it couldn't be simpler.

There's a totally irreverent little voice in his head whispering that his Shepherd seems to like the ceremony and formality of all this. That he seems to relish being worshiped a little like those Primes did.

No. Bellamy believes in transcendence, and that's the bottom line.

The only bright spot about getting on with life as usual? At least he might be able to do some more chores around here to make the place feel more like home. Heaven knows he has nothing else meaningful to do.

He eats a surprisingly civil breakfast with his wife and stepdaughter, then potters around tidying the kitchen. There seem to be more pots and pans here than three people with modest tastes can possibly need, and he thinks he might give some of them away. That seems like a decent and community-spirited thing to do – for all mankind, of course.

He goes out on a walk after that. He figures the fresh air will do him good. And the day is cold but fine, so he decides there's no risk to his health.

He's just walking past the school playground when he notices three Disciples he does not recognise clustered among the children, apparently causing something of a fuss.

Intrigued – or perhaps even alarmed – he looks closer. There's Madi, and she has a disciple grasping each of her arms and another looming over her, and she's kicking and struggling as if they're trying to take her against her will.

He runs over there at once, bronchitis be damned. He can't just stand idly by and watch his Shepherd's men try to seize Madi. The idea is abhorrent to him, for reasons he doesn't have time to stop and analyse right this moment.

"Stop! Stop, that's my daughter!" He cries, running right into the midst of things, pushing firmly at the guy who holds her right arm.

The Disciples fall back, confused.

"Your _daughter_?" A firm-faced woman asks. "We were taking her in for questioning. We heard she used to have the AI in her head."

"She knows nothing. I'll vouch for that myself. I've lived with her these last two weeks – I married her mother as part of the peace treaty."

He sees the Disciples processing that, their eyes running over his white robes, weighing that up against his claimed relationship to this girl.

He presses his advantage. "Our Shepherd would be angry if we jeopardised the peace treaty." He says, casting himself firmly on their side of this affair. "You don't want to risk that. There's no way we keep the peace if you take this girl in for questioning."

That wins the day. The Disciples nod slowly. The woman at Madi's left arm steps away once and for all.

Bellamy watches the three of them leave until they're right out of the playground. Did that work? Will they be back with reinforcements – or worst still, with a signed warrant from Cadogan himself? That will be harder to argue with. Bellamy respects his Shepherd. Of course he does. He just wishes they could reach transcendence without hurting anyone along the way.

"So I'm your _daughter_ now?" Madi snaps, jolting Bellamy straight back to the present moment.

"I said what I had to say to protect you." He argues right back. "I owe your mother that much at least. I wasn't going to convince them to leave you alone if I opened with _that's my stepdaughter but she can't stand me_ , was I?"

At that, her face falls. He curses himself. He really used to get on well with this kid, he seems to remember, back when he'd only broken her mother's heart once or twice.

Or maybe three times.

The point is, he shouldn't have snapped at her. He's just worried about the situation, and he shouldn't take it out on her. And it really is understandable that she's having a hard time adjusting to his sudden appearance in her life and in her living room.

"You know, I spent six years dreaming of the day you'd show up and suddenly step back into Clarke's life and become my father." She mutters quietly. "Turns out now it's happened it's not all I thought it would be."

He laughs, hollow and humourless. "You can say that again, Madi. I'm sorry. I know this isn't how any of us wanted things to turn out."

"If it's not how you wanted it to turn out, why can't you change it?" She asks, as if it's as simple as that.

Maybe to a twelve-year-old, it is.

"Because it's complicated." He says, in the end. He seems to remember he used to hate getting that answer from adults, when he was a child.

But to his surprise, she nods.

"I can see that." She acknowledges, frowning. "It must be complicated if you just chased off three Disciples who are supposed to be on _your side_ to protect a stepdaughter your faith doesn't allow you to care about." She summarises, looking him right in the eye, a little too pleased with herself.

He lets her have it. He nods, breaks into a tired and rather relieved smile.

"Yes. You're right. That's exactly how complicated it is."

…...

Clarke isn't surprised, somehow, when Madi tells her what has happened.

As she told Jackson the other day, she's spent her entire adult life just waiting for the next disaster. So now it turns out that the Disciples are interested in her daughter, and to be perfectly honest, that's only what she was expecting. Sure, she's terrified, but she's been terrified for a long time now. If anything, there's a sick kind of peace in knowing that her worst fears are coming true. At least now she can get on with protecting Madi from a _known_ threat, rather than only overreacting to a _perceived_ threat. So that's why she spends the afternoon asking Indra to station more Wonkru guards around the village and ensure her daughter is in sight of help at all times. Bellamy may have put the Disciples off for now, but Clarke suspects they will come back. And somehow, she feels a little more in control of the situation, now that she has grounds to make her daughter's safety a top priority topic of discussion in the next meeting with Cadogan.

The other thing that doesn't surprise her? Bellamy rushing to Madi's aid. Even after everything, in her heart of hearts she still expects him to be the protective man she used to know.

Huh. Looks like her heart still hasn't caught up with her head, then.

She knows she ought to be suspicious of him, painful though that is. She's pretty sure Cadogan only agreed to this marriage on the basis that Bellamy would spy on her or talk her round to his faith, or some such thing. So she's perfectly aware that she ought to be on her guard, and that Bellamy _shouldn't_ have defended Madi this morning.

But the sweet, sad guy she nursed this last week would do anything to help a scared child, she's pretty sure.

She tries not to make a big deal about thanking him. She doesn't want to make him feel self-conscious or draw attention to the fact that he acted against the interests of Cadogan. So it is that she simply brings it up over supper that night.

"Madi told me what happened this morning." She says, as lightly as she can manage while talking about her daughter's safety. "Thanks for keeping her safe."

"You told her?" Bellamy says, sharp, looking over at Madi.

"Of course she told me. She knew I'd want to increase security around the village." Clarke points out.

"No – I mean -"

"I told her what you did." Madi interrupts firmly. "I told her exactly how _complicated_ it was. I guess I've decided I should try understanding your situation better, too."

Clarke listens to Bellamy swallow loudly, then take a couple of ragged breaths. She wants to tell him not to bother repressing his tears – he's with family, here, and he's perfectly welcome to weep at the supper table if doing so will bring him comfort or release.

Huh. So she can still tell when Bellamy's on the verge of tears. What of it?

"Thanks, Madi." He says in the end, sounding rather strangled.

"Thanks for keeping me out of MCAP." Madi responds at once. "From what Clarke says it's really horrible."

Bellamy swallows loudly once more. "Yeah. It's – it's not nice. I really wish we didn't use it."

His statement is met with silence. Utter silence, taut and tense. That's the first time Clarke has heard him openly criticise Cadogan's methods, she's pretty sure. Madi looks curious and alert. Clarke can hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.

And Bellamy? He looks _horrified_.

That's why Clarke decides to come out and address the elephant in the room. He's plainly struggling to process that he just said that at the supper table, that he's just implicitly condemned his precious Shepherd and in front of two other actual people, no less.

"We're hardly going to repeat that, Bellamy." She says mildly. "You're with family here. Take a moment and let me get you another glass of water."

He nods, still wordless. Clarke refills his water, pushes it towards him, and watches carefully while he gulps it down.

She really does wonder what the hell is going on inside his head, these days.

It's Madi who saves the situation. No one is more surprised by that than Clarke – Madi was being outright hostile to Bellamy, all too recently. But apparently his protectiveness this morning has earned him a little credit in her daughter's estimation, or else she was more touched by their conversation about complications than she has let on.

"Can we draw together after we've eaten?" Madi asks brightly. "You have to show me more of your drawings of Etherea, Bellamy. I've never seen real mountains so your sketches are my only hope"

Bellamy smiles a sad smile. "Believe me, mountains are not so exciting."

"I was trying to help make something positive out of your complicated situation." Madi says outright, with a chirpiness that Clarke thinks is rather _persistent_ , really.

"Thanks, Madi. You know, for a stepdaughter who can't stand me, you're a very sweet kid." Bellamy offers wryly.

Clarke gasps slightly. Is that an in-joke the two of them share? Evidently this morning was more of a bonding moment than Madi was quite ready to admit. Maybe more will come out when she has had some time to process, Clarke wonders.

In the meantime, though, Madi simply laughs and throws a similar barbed compliment straight back at Bellamy.

"For a disappointing stepdad, you're not doing so bad yourself."

Clarke can't make much more sense of that, either. But in this moment, she doesn't greatly care. She's got a specific concern to discuss with Cadogan, and that makes her feel prepared and powerful and almost calm. She's got guards watching her daughter, Jackson helping her to heal her head.

She also seems to have a family who don't detest each other, and that's a new development she's really rather fond of.

…...

Clarke is initially disappointed, three days later, when Cadogan does not arrive with the delegation from Bardo. Does this mean she has less chance of consolidating the aspects of the deal that refer to her daughter's safety?

She can't help feeling even more disappointed, too, when Bellamy immediately leaves her side to go hug Doucette, who is leading the party. She tries her hardest not to let it get to her, but really, she doesn't see why they need to hug quite so _fiercely_. Bellamy used to hug her a bit like that, she likes to think. And then they pull apart, still smiling at each other, and Bellamy's actually _laughing_ properly for the first time in weeks and – well – she's insanely jealous.

That's daft, of course. Her husband didn't want to marry her. So what if he's a better friend or maybe even lover to the man he spent those three months on Etherea with?

No. They can't be lovers. Disciples don't believe in love.

But even if they're not sleeping together, Clarke is still jealous. She's jealous of the easy warmth there. She's spent three weeks now trying to show Bellamy she wants to understand his troubles – and a week of that nursing him in his sickbed, for goodness' sake.

And still he will barely _touch_ her, let alone reach out for a heartfelt hug.

She takes a deep breath, tries to force herself to put her jealousy in a little mental box. That's something Jackson wants her to work on – compartmentalising and keeping things in proportion. She gets stuck sometimes, because one of the tools he wants her to use to keep things in proportion is talking herself through what a trusted friend would tell her, if they were here. And the guy who used to be her go-to trusted friend is the very same man who's currently causing half her anxiety and confusion and all-round mental _mess_.

But whatever. She's doing a little better, sort of. And so once she's put aside her jealousy – to some extent, at least – she sees that there is an opportunity here, too.

This is an opportunity for her to see what she can learn from the First Disciple.

It might be useful to befriend him, she figures. Or even if he doesn't believe in _friends_ , it might be useful to strike up a passing acquaintance with him and see what she can learn. There's that, and there's the fact she honestly cannot stomach watching Bellamy laugh with him a moment longer.

So that's why she gathers her courage and marches up to the pair of them, a careful smile stretched over her face.

"First Disciple Doucette. I don't think we've been properly introduced." Clarke says brightly, extending her hand.

There's a brief hesitation. Doucette looks a little taken aback. Clarke risks a glance at Bellamy and sees that his jaw is actually hanging open in stunned shock.

But then Doucette collects himself and reaches out for her hand.

"Doucette is fine, Clarke. May I call you Clarke? I know we haven't really spoken but I feel like I know everything about you already." He says, smiling warmly.

Huh. So far, so promising. "What do you mean?" She asks, trying for all she is worth to smile in kind. The way he said that sounded more like a joke than a threat, she thinks.

She hopes.

"Bellamy's told me all about you." Doucette says, laughing and throwing Bellamy a glance.

"I might have talked about you a lot on Etherea." Bellamy mutters, visibly uncomfortable.

Clarke does her best to help him out. She laughs as lightly as she can manage, whispers to Doucette with a conspiratorial air. "You need me to tell you all the embarrassing Bellamy stories, then?"

Another stiff pause. It's as if neither of them can believe she dared to go there. To be fair, _she_ can't quite believe she dared to go there, either.

She's surprised when it's Bellamy who lets out a heavy chuckle first.

"I'm pretty sure he's already seen me at my worst, Clarke. I don't think telling him about that time I fell over my own bootlaces and gave myself a black eye is going to ruin our friendship." Huh. So Disciples _can_ have friends, then.

"No – but it does sound like a good story." Doucette offers brightly.

More stilted chuckles. Another tentative step towards friendship – or at least cordiality.

Hmm. Clarke seems to remember she came over here for political gain, not for awkward laughter. Maybe she ought to get back on with her agenda. Maybe she should -

That's when she makes her mistake. That's when she looks over at Bellamy, sees the raw hope in his eyes as well as the way his mouth hangs open in shock.

That's what makes her issue the invitation.

"Doucette – would you like to come eat supper with us at the palace some time? We can share more of those stories of Bellamy." Clarke offers, before she can quite think it through.

Is that a mistake? Or is it the best idea she's ever had? She's not entirely sure.

"Are you sure?" Doucette asks, but he doesn't sound unhappy about it.

She's sure. _Any friend of Bellamy's is a friend of mine_. The words are right there on the tip of her tongue, but she's not quite ready to go that far. Not yet.

"Anyone who's saved this guy's life is welcome at my table." She says instead, risking a quick smile at Bellamy as she does so.

Wow. She's not seen him look like that since he got back from Etherea. Like a kid being offered a treat, almost, or at least like an adult looking forward to a good meal. It scares her, really. It scares her that she has the power to pick up Bellamy's mood so easily even when things are such a mess between them.

It scares her most of all that it's an invitation to _Doucette_ that makes him feel this way, though. That he looks so transparently happy at the thought of eating with one of Cadogan's damn Disciples.

"I'm not sure. I don't have a lot of time as First Disciple." Doucette hedges. Clarke suspects that is code for _my Shepherd would not approve_.

"I understand. The invitation is there if you get the chance." She says, finding that a smile comes more easily to her face, now, than it did at the beginning of the conversation. Is she perhaps warming to this man?

It wouldn't be the first time she's warmed to a man in Disciple robes.

"Yeah. Thanks. That's really kind, Clarke." Doucette glances slyly at Bellamy once again. "I see rumours of your generosity were not exaggerated."

Clarke snorts. As it happens, she thinks her _generosity_ is the last thing Bellamy is ever likely to have enthused about. Honestly, she wonders what he did say about her. That she was passably good-looking for a mass murderer? That she was worth keeping alive, most of the time?

Maybe one of these days she'll pluck up the courage to ask.

…...

Bellamy doesn't even bother trying to ask Clarke any loaded questions about the flame as they sit and draw that night.

He has been trying, on and off, up until now. Sometimes he's asked whether she knows exactly how it was damaged or if there's any equipment Raven might like to borrow from Bardo. One time he even asked her whether she remembered anything more of having it in her head than she told him at the time, all those years ago.

But he's got no interest in doing that, tonight. This is an evening for sitting and drawing and embracing the fact that sharing this house with his best friend is a rather comfortable experience, these days.

Sorry – his _estranged_ best friend. They're still on opposite sides of a conflict that might yet become a war, of course. Except that when they're sitting on their own couch, before their own fire, hands dusted with charcoal, it doesn't feel like they're enemies. It just feels like they're Bellamy and Clarke – perhaps not quite the same Bellamy and Clarke that they used to be, but versions of them at least.

He knows there's a reason he's lost his stomach for spying. He knows it's to do with that conversation Clarke and Doucette had right in front of him earlier. But he's trying very hard not to think about that, and only to concentrate on drawing.

"It was nice to have Madi's company for so much of this evening." He offers lightly. Clarke has only recently got back from seeing Madi safely to bed.

"Yes. She seems to have decided she likes playing happy families now." She replies, and for a moment he can almost recognise the teasing young woman he used to know.

 _I don't want it to be a game any more_. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue.

But he doesn't say them, of course, because he needs mankind to transcend. So he simply makes a humming noise and keeps drawing. Maybe that's rude, but he honestly can't think of a better answer to give, in this moment.

He takes a few moments to work on a patch of shading. He's not sure why he bothers, really – drawing is still not his greatest skill. But it's a pleasant and calm way to pass the time, so he sticks at it. And while he does, he tries to decide what to say next.

"You seemed frustrated not to see my Shepherd today." He says, apologetic.

Clarke only shrugs. "I wanted to talk about Madi's safety. Sending those Disciples for her is against the terms of the treaty, I'm pretty sure. But I can't do much about that until he shows his face. All I can do is keep security tighter round here."

He nods. He supposes that could have been a way into talking about something useful to his Shepherd, there. But he's already established that he doesn't much have the heart for that, today.

Sorry – the _stomach_. His heart has nothing to do with it, of course.

"He's still _your Shepherd_ , then?" Clarke asks, rather quiet. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't ask. It's just that recently I've been wondering – you know – you -"

"I still believe in the transcendence of mankind." Bellamy bites out, interrupting her firmly. He can't allow such dangerous musings to go unchallenged. "I haven't found anything yet to convince me this life is better than transcendence."

Except that even as he's saying it, part of him is stuck on what he witnessed earlier today. In his mind's eye he's seeing Clarke trying her hardest to smile at Doucette, hearing her invite him to _supper_ of all things. He's still reeling from the impact of knowing she cares enough about understanding him to try to reach out to his new friend – one of the very Disciples she despises.

He's had to consider the possibility she was doing it for some political gain, of course. He knows she's capable of great cunning. But he knows her well enough, too, to know that she was being entirely genuine in her tentative overtures of friendship to Doucette, at least once she settled into the conversation. He knows that she doesn't laugh with just anyone, that she does not give out smiles for the sake of it when trying to seal a deal. And he didn't miss the way she kept glancing over at him as if to check that her attempts to play nice with his new friend were meeting his approval.

In short, he knows she issued that dinner invitation for his sake. And it makes him want to hug her more than ever.

Ugh. He's been stuck on this all day, and he's horrified at his own selfishness. Is he so weak that he can be swayed from his cause by something as small as the woman he used to love befriending her enemy for his sake? Is he honestly saying he'd put the fate of all mankind at risk if it meant he could trade transcendence for Clarke's fierce compassion and loving loyalty?

"Bellamy?" Clarke prompts him softly, and he drags himself back to the present moment. Has he missed something? His brain is perhaps a little less fuzzy than it was when he first arrived back here, but puzzling over his reaction to this morning's events is complicated enough to absorb all his mental energy right now.

"Sorry. Lost in thought." He mutters, apologetic.

"It's OK. I was just telling you I'm sorry for bringing it up. It was stupid of me – but I just can't stop picking at the scab, you know?"

He nods. He does know. He thinks maybe that's why he's spent the afternoon and evening daydreaming of a family future with Clarke and Madi, where Doucette pops over for tea. He's determined to torture himself with everything he can't have and shouldn't want, it seems.

He sighs, shades a little more. "I get it, Clarke. I'm sorry I can't give you the answer you want."

"I'm sorry I can't support you the way you want." She says at once, heavy and sad. "I think I'm doing better at _understanding_ but I can't be on your side for this one. Together. So much for that."

"You're wrong. Sure, you don't agree with me about what to do. But you and me together is the only good thing about this whole situation." He tells her, with utter conviction.

She smiles weakly. "There he is. There's my Bellamy. That's your delusional optimism back in full force."

He swallows painfully. _There's my Bellamy_. Good god, but that hurts. He swallows again. Still that lump in his throat. He needs to recover this, needs to get on with saving the situation.

 _There's my Bellamy_.

He just wants a hug.

Third time lucky. One more swallow and a deep, calming breath.

"I mean it. This marriage has turned out more comfortable than I expected." He gets the words out, as light as he can manage.

"Yeah. I'm with you on that one."

Silence sits. He tries to concentrate on his drawing. _There's my Bellamy_ echoes through his mind. Shading here, a curved cheek there. Hands are difficult, so he doesn't try. Focuses his effort on the faces instead.

"What are you drawing?" Clarke asks, perfectly even and conversational, as if this whole day hasn't threatened to turn his very faith on its head.

Probably she doesn't know that, he muses. And what would happen, if he did tell her a little more about just how complicated his head is, right this moment? She'd have his back. She'd try to understand. She'd argue with him, but she'd be reasonable. That's why he gathers his courage and decides it's time to admit both to her and to himself what he's been drawing all evening.

"It's not going well because I'm not great at people yet." He begins, because that feels like a safe place to start. "But it's trying to be you and Doucette this morning."

"Oh? Not another scene from Etherea?" She prompts, curious.

"No." He swallows. "What you did this morning it – it meant a lot to me. Like I just said – I still want transcendence. But honestly, it made me see some of what you say about real life being worthwhile, too. It's the first time in months that I've really felt like I have a home, Clarke." He's crying now, but he sees no sense in stopping when he's made it this far. "And really, who doesn't like the idea of their two best friends hitting it off and hanging out to eat supper together?"

"Are Disciples allowed best friends?" She asks mildly.

"Yeah. I talk with Doucette about it sometimes. He – he gets that I was never just going to be able to forget about you, and that my friendship with him is deeper than most because of what we went through together. As long as I'm not selfish and I keep transcendence in sight, he's happy with my commitment to the cause."

"He sounds like a good friend."

"I've had better." He says. It's supposed to be a joke, because surely it is obvious that the best friend he's ever had is the woman sitting on the other end of the couch? But it genuinely appears to take her by surprise, has her blinking quickly as she stares down at her sketch.

"I liked him more than I expected to." Clarke says after a moment. "I always held it against him that he was the one who converted you to your faith. But he seems warmer and kinder than Cadogan."

Bellamy grunts softly. He'd agree with that a thousand times over, but he senses he had better not say it. He's already said a lot, today.

They sit there a few minutes longer. Bellamy notes that his eyes are still damp, but he supposes that's maybe not a surprise. And honestly, the sadness he's feeling is a pretty _peaceful_ kind of sadness. He's pleased he dared to share a little of his state of mind with Clarke.

"You want to put that up on our bedroom wall when it's done?" Clarke asks.

He nods. "Yeah. If that's OK." None of the pictures on the walls are his, yet, and he senses this is a peace gesture worth accepting.

"Yeah. Sure. If it's important to you, I respect that."

"Thanks, Clarke. And thanks for the chat tonight." He takes a shaky breath. "It's such a relief to share some of what's on my mind."

"I get that. It's complicated." She provides, with a pointed brow, a deliberate echo of what Madi said the other day.

He laughs, the tension of a most confusing day giving way to pure senseless chuckles.

It's complicated. As it happens, his life has never been simple, not since he was a young child. But really, he thinks fate is just taking the piss, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. It feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Thursday, another chapter. This one has a few interesting developments in it, or so I like to think. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: panic attack, nightmare, and potentially distressing sexual content. Please note the change of rating. It's not there for your typical smut. More details (including spoilers) in the end note.

Bellamy still hasn't moved back to his makeshift bed on the floor, since recovering from his illness. Honestly, he doesn't intend to, and he certainly doesn't plan on prompting Clarke to move, either. He loves sharing a bed with her – even if it's rather unconventional bedsharing by comparison with what he has known in the past. They don't touch, or share personal space. It's a big bed and they lie there, a polite foot apart, sleeping in their own separate halves of the mattress.

But he loves it all the same. It's still warmer, here with Clarke, and he still gets the feeling of human contact, having someone else nearby, even though they never meet skin to skin. He loves being able to hear her breathe and even smell the familiar scent of her, reminding himself that she's still alive. That he hasn't lost her yet, despite everything life has thrown at them.

Most of all he loves it when they chat to each other as they lay side by side.

It's Bellamy who starts it, this morning. As his brain begins to function a little more fluently he's starting to notice that Clarke has put a lot of effort into rebuilding something that passes for a friendship between them, in recent weeks, and that he hasn't always been in a fit place to reciprocate. So he figures a cheerful morning chat is the least he can offer.

"How are you doing?" He asks softly, when he sees her eyes blink open.

She answers with a long stretch and a loud yawn. He thinks that's quite a good sign, actually – a little relaxed stretching has to be a more encouraging start to the day than leaping, anxious and alert, straight out of bed.

"I'm sleeping better." She says when she's done yawning. "I'll tell Jackson that. He'll be happy to hear I'm not wasting his time for nothing."

"You're not wasting his time." He chastises her gently.

She looks a little more serious, now. "No. I know. But old habits die hard, don't they? I'm still getting used to asking for help."

He swallows carefully. "I haven't been to see him yet. I know I should. But I don't think I'd be comfortable talking with him yet."

She nods. "I get that. I guess it's not supposed to be _easy_ but you're right, you shouldn't try to go to Jackson if your heart's not in it."

"I want to. Soon." He swallows. "I feel like I'm practising by talking to you. Sorry about that. It's not something you signed up for."

To his surprise, she laughs a slightly hollow laugh. "I didn't sign up for _any_ of this, Bellamy. Political marriage, remember?"

He gives a grudging chuckle. "Point taken."

Silence sits for a moment. He supposes that was slightly stilted laughter, as laughter goes – but all the same it was lighter and happier than anything they managed in the very earliest days of their marriage. He's proud of them, honestly. It's been a hurtful and deeply surreal situation and yet here they are laughing in bed together. He's always known Clarke was tenacious, but he's not so sure about himself. It's a long time since he had much good to say about his own personality traits – or it _feels_ a long time at least.

"Have you got any plans for today?" Clarke asks him carefully. She's been asking that a lot of mornings lately. He thinks maybe she's trying to encourage him to get out and go places rather than mooching aimlessly around the palace.

"I thought I might go see Octavia. I haven't seen her since she visited when I was sick."

"And you want to see her?" Clarke prompts, her eyes ever so slightly narrowed.

"Yeah." He swallows. "Living with you has shown me that just because I believe in transcendence doesn't mean I have to be on bad terms with the people I used to love. I want to try for some kind of compromise like that with Octavia. Something where we can be civil and – and _friends_ , I guess."

Clarke nods. "That's a good way of looking at it. But – be prepared for it to be difficult, Bellamy." She rolls from her back to her side to face him, eyes damp and imploring him to understand. "It's hard to look in the eyes of someone who used to love you and realise you're not special to them any more."

He clamps his jaw tight shut, refuses to let any confession that she still _is_ special to him, thank you very much, past his lips. She shouldn't be special to him – or maybe she _is_ allowed to be special to him as long as it doesn't make him selfish? He's losing track.

"I'm sorry I put you through that. I didn't mean to hurt you." He says carefully, in the end.

Just for a moment, he thinks Clarke is going to reach out and touch him. He thinks she's going to take his hand or maybe stroke his shoulder or rest her palm on his cheek.

She doesn't, though, and he's so disappointed he could cry.

"I know." She says heavily. She doesn't say it's OK, but that's fine. He doesn't deserve for her to say that, he's pretty sure. "But think about it – I've been forced to process all this by living with you. She hasn't had that reason to adjust."

He nods. "Yeah. I get that. I'm prepared for a tough morning."

She grins at him. "Good for you. Come on – you can't go out there on an empty stomach."

That's Clarke Griffin – determined to keep taking care of him, no matter what he throws at her.

…...

Bellamy prepares very thoroughly for his visit to Octavia. He eats a hearty breakfast. He brushes a great number of imaginary specks of dust off his robe. He asks Clarke for directions to his sister's apartment three times over.

At last, his wonderful wife pushes him out the door, with a joke about how he's overthinking things so much he's turning into her. He laughs along, but it strikes him that she has a point. Maybe three months stuck largely in his own head on Etherea has messed with his mind on a deeper level than he realised.

When he arrives at Octavia's, he knocks firmly on the door and waits until she appears.

"Bellamy?" She asks – as if it might just be someone else wearing his face.

"Yeah. It's me. Have you got a minute?"

She nods, visibly puzzled. She steps back, gestures to him to enter. "What are you doing here?"

"Making peace. Or – trying to." He sucks in a loud breath. "You came to see me when I was sick. Thanks for that."

"Of course I did. You're _family_."

He nods. "Yeah. Thanks. That's really why I wanted to visit you. With Clarke I've been trying to figure out how I can be kind to my family and still – still be a Disciple." He gets the words out, proud of himself for struggling through.

Octavia's frowning, but she looks more thoughtful than angry. "I don't understand."

"I mean – I don't want to hurt you." He says, hands spread helplessly. "I wish I was still on good terms with all my family and old friends. And I'm pretty much there with Clarke, now. So I wanted to come visit you and see if we can learn how to be kind to each other, even when we disagree about really big issues."

She nods, stares at her hands a little. "It's just so hard, Bellamy. All my life, you were the one thing I could rely on. No matter what happened – even when I did some horrible things – you were right there for me. And to have that suddenly disappear..." She breaks off, shaking her head.

"I get that. It's a shock."

"I just don't understand it. Loving people is what you _do_. I don't understand how you could change so much, no matter what you've been through."

Privately, it occurs to him that he's not sure he has changed so very much. When he thinks about that conversation he had with Clarke this morning, he's seriously starting to doubt that he's left love behind so effectively after all. But here and now, he simply nods, and tries to encourage Octavia to keep talking.

"But you're saying you've figured things out with Clarke?"

That's a funny way of phrasing it – as if they were some long-married couple whose relationship had hit sudden difficulties.

Maybe, in a manner of speaking, they _are_.

"We're figuring things out still, I'd say. We're trying to be patient with each other." He bites his lip a little, fishes for words. "I can still have friends, you know. I can still have a _sister_. I – my faith may have changed some things, but – but I can still be your big brother. Even if that means something different to what it used to."

Octavia nods slowly. "That sounds better than having no big brother at all." She says with a damp smile.

He breaks into a relieved smile. "That's great. Thanks. You know you'd be welcome at the palace any time. I guess – you might find it easier to talk with Clarke there to smooth things over."

"Maybe I'll try that. Thanks for coming over, Bellamy. It's really good to see you."

"Yeah. You too."

He heads for the door. He can tell that he's stretching his welcome a little thin, here. Octavia is obviously in want of some alone time, and to be honest, he's finding this conversation rather trying, too.

But there's one last thing he wants to say before he leaves.

"I'm still thinking about what you said. Sparta. I guess I'm still figuring out how I feel about that." He tells her honestly.

She nods, smiles a little brighter – but no less damply. "Let me know how you get on, big brother."

"Will do. Have a good morning." He swallows, gathers his courage. "O."

All things considered, he thinks that awkward, tearful conversation was a resounding success.

…...

Clarke doesn't realise it's a dream at first.

It feels so real – Bellamy's lips on hers, his hips pressing her down into the mattress as he moves inside of her. He's gasping out her name like some kind of desperate prayer, and she's clinging to him for all she's worth while the pleasure builds and she bucks her hips up against him.

But then it changes. It shifts, like the shape of a forest in the mist. Suddenly it's not Bellamy taking care of her, but Cillian taking advantage of her loneliness. Bellamy's still there, somehow, the scent of him lingering like the hurt of that betrayal on Etherea. And then she's lying there, paralysed by a dart, and Russell's face is closing in and she knows -

She wakes up with a start, breathless and frantic.

She can't seem to get enough oxygen in, can't convince her lungs to work. Dazed and desperately confused, she tries to fish for anything Jackson has said to her about keeping calm. Breathing? A lost cause. Drawing? It's the middle of the night and her hands are shaking. A trusted friend?

That's when she hears it. Bellamy's voice – his _real_ voice, not that whisper from her nightmare.

"You're OK, Clarke. You're going to be fine. Long, slow breaths."

She reaches out for him on instinct, finds his forearm and clasps it tightly.

"You're OK. I'm right here. You want a hand?"

She nods. A warm hand slips into hers and squeezes firmly.

"I'm right here, Clarke. Breathe with me?"

She tries to do as he asks, tries to match her breaths to his. She can do this. She focuses on the things that make her feel safe. Bellamy is here, and he's alive, and right now he's taking care of her rather than handing her over to her enemies. Good. Safe. Madi is just down the hallway – Clarke put her to bed only a few hours ago. And she's been pretty well recently, with fewer panic attacks, starting to remember how to be a happy child again.

Good. Safe.

She's doing better now. She's alert enough to realise that she's probably crushing Bellamy's hand somewhat, so she loosens her grip. But she doesn't let go – she thinks a nightmare and a bit of panic are probably fair grounds for a moment of weakness and hand-holding. She does remove her other hand from his forearm, though, because really she fears this might look a little _much_. He's only being a good husband and friend and trying to help her out – he doesn't need her clinging to him like this.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I get that. But if you do want to talk, I'm here to listen." Bellamy murmurs, squeezing her hand.

"No. It's OK. I'm seeing Jackson in a couple of days. I should let you get back to sleep."

Another squeeze of her hand. "It's no bother, Clarke. I think waiting up to talk it over is the least I can do." He gives a self-deprecating chuckle. "You've given so much time and energy to helping me these last few weeks. And I think at first I was too sick to see that or return the favour. But I really appreciate it, and I'm doing a little better now, so – so if you want to talk, I want to listen."

That feels like a verbal hug, somehow. Yes, she has been working pretty hard on taking care of Bellamy these last few weeks, because pouring her heart and soul into caring for people is what she _does_. She's a doctor and a leader, and always has been. But she hadn't quite realised Bellamy noticed the effort she was putting in. She's got used to seeing her hard work returned with ingratitude over the years, and it's lovely to be appreciated now, instead.

That's why she has a go at explaining it.

"It was a bad dream. A really frightening one. It sort of blended together what happened with Cillian and Russel putting Josephine in my head, with you and Etherea."

"How do you mean?"

She swallows, bites her lip. She and Bellamy are doing well at honesty and understanding, lately, but she sure as hell isn't ready to tell him she seems to have started having _sex dreams_ about him. It's probably just because they're sharing a bed now, she figures. That's all that's going on here. Her silly subconscious has decided he's romantic fair game again, now he's smiling at her and sleeping at her side.

She hopes that's all it is. She hopes it isn't something more sinister, her head telling her not to trust her heart. Some warning to herself that her judgment _sucks_ , and that sexual attraction always ends in disaster and betrayal.

"I guess I mean the dream had parallels between how I slept with him and then got betrayed, and how I loved you and was betrayed." She hedges, breath growing ragged as she tries to grapple with that fear all over again.

At once, Bellamy is squeezing her hand. "You're OK. I'm right here and you're safe with me."

Is she safe with him? She's no longer sure.

As if he has heard her ask herself the question, he starts answering it, more or less. "I know this must be frightening, Clarke. But you're safe with me now. I promise. I know we're on different sides at the moment but I'm not going to put you in any danger." He says, fiercer and more confident than she has heard him sound in a long time.

She nods, keeps squeezing his hand.

"I didn't know you were still getting nightmares about Cillian and Russell and Josephine." He mutters. "Silly of me. I should have realised that would stay with you."

"They're not usually this bad."

He doesn't look impressed. "So they do happen. You know you can wake me up and crush the life out of my hand any time, Clarke."

She laughs. It's a somewhat hysterical, still tinged with panic, but it breaks down a little more of her nervous tension. "Thanks, Bellamy. Sorry about all this."

"Don't apologise. I'm here whenever you need me. Isn't that what husbands are for? Or if not husbands, best friends at least?"

She smiles cautiously. "Yeah. Thanks."

They sit there a moment longer. Clarke knows that she really ought to let go of Bellamy's hand, but she doesn't much want to. Partly because he has nice hands and all, but largely because she's finding it really reassuring, in this moment, to feel him solid and warm against her skin – and to feel the way that he's taking care of her, not betraying her or hurting her.

"We should try to get back to sleep." She says at last.

"Sure. If you're ready. Wake me up again if you need me."

She tries to pull her hand away, then, as she lies back down again. But Bellamy holds onto it – not so tight as to prevent her from leaving if she really wanted to, but just tight enough to show her that he's still there, and that he'd rather not let her go if it's all the same to her.

It's not all the same to her, as it happens. She'd much rather fall asleep with Bellamy's hand clasped in her own. So it is that for once in her life she takes what she wants for herself, and gives herself permission to fall asleep hand-in-hand with her husband.

…...

Bellamy doesn't know how much fuss to make about the nightmare.

He knows that Clarke's mental health is her own business. He knows that she's seeing Jackson. But he can't help but feel that nightmare flashbacks of bodysnatching and betrayal and a traumatic sexual experience sound pretty terrible. And he really wants to support her – in fact, he _needs_ to be there for her on some deep and instinctive level. He can't believe he went this long without realising she was dealing with things like this. Sure, his head was a bit foggy, and he realised she was anxious. But this seems like trauma on a whole new level.

He blames himself, too, because he knows he is in part the cause of it. One of the things she's horrified about is his betrayal on Etherea.

If he could take it back, he would. Transcendence or no transcendence, he doesn't want to hurt anyone else. And he's starting to wonder, really, whether transcendence is actually the best way to get to peace. Honestly, from the depths of his heart, all he wants is for the human race to be _happy_.

And he's beginning to think that they might be happier staying in this life with the people they love.

He's thinking that because he knows he feels that way, at least some of the time. He feels happy when his old friends wave at him around the village or his sister calls him _big brother_ or Clarke trusts him to help her through the tough times.

But is that raw, messy kind of happiness better than the steady peace of transcendence?

It's an interesting day, the one that follows Clarke's nightmare. He tries to take care of her a bit more _actively_ , asking her how she's doing and inviting her to spend some time drawing with him and Madi, rather than waiting for one of them to suggest it. He feels good about taking the lead even in such a small way as that – it makes a nice change to be confident in his role at home.

But he doesn't mention the nightmare. If she wants to talk about it, she can start the conversation. He doesn't want to pry.

It's not until they're lying in bed that night that he actually alludes to it.

"You'd better wake me up if you need me." He tells her, firm but with a teasing lilt to his tone.

She sighs, mock exasperated. "I will. But I told you, I probably won't – they're not usually so bad."

"You could wake me up even if it's less bad. We could just have a midnight chat even if you don't need a breathing buddy."

"You want me to wake you up in the middle of the night just to talk?" She asks, incredulous.

He feels his jaw tighten in defensiveness. "Yeah. I like talking to you."

She laughs, rolls to face him. "Fine. So talk now."

"OK. You asked for it. Let me tell you all about pyramids. You know the great pyramids -"

"No. Stop. I knew I'd regret giving you that book."

He laughs in turn. God, he's missed her – _this_ side of her, the way she tangles the fun and the serious so closely together. He can understand, now, how they fell in love while the world was ending. He can't think of anyone else who could remain such good company whilst fighting for survival.

"I wish you were there on Etherea." He says softly. "Being stuck in a cave would have been a hell of a lot more fun with your company."

"I wish I was there too." She murmurs. "But at least you had Doucette."

"Yeah. He's a good guy, but like I said – not the best friend I've ever had." He takes a careful breath. "I don't know. I should be happy you weren't there – I shouldn't wish it on you."

"No, I get what you mean. I'm happy you were safe in space rather than in the lab with radiation burns with me, right after the death wave. But sometimes I still catch myself wishing you were there."

"Yeah. Exactly." He agrees. How is it that she always seems to understand him so perfectly? He can see, now, that those first couple of days of misunderstandings after Etherea were the exception rather than the rule – just like when they misunderstood each other while he was with Pike, perhaps.

"How is it that we always manage to fix things, you and me?" He asks her now, smiling affectionately. "I mean, I know this is far from perfect. But we're not yelling at each other any more."

"It's because this is what we've always done." She says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "We totally disagreed with each other back when we first started working together at the dropship, but we still made it work. We've argued plenty since then and always figured it out. Forgiveness is our thing."

"Yeah. You're right."

Silence falls. Clarke's still smiling at him, he notes in the half-darkness. He knows he's smiling at her, too. Not because he _can't help it_ , really. It feels like more of a choice, in this moment – a choice to explore the richness of life and love and loss, and everything that is raw and real.

He's pretty certain that late night bittersweet conversations with his wife would not be a feature of transcendence.

"Come on. You should catch up on some sleep." He suggests gently, in the end. She needs more rest after last night, he figures.

"I don't want to." She says, petulant and almost _childish_ , and he thinks he glimpses the glisten of tears in her eyes. "I don't want to fall asleep and lose _this_. It's been like having the old you back."

"I'll still be here in the morning." He tells her. "Or at least – I'll _try_."

He knows what he's implying there. He knows he's implying that he'd choose to be his old self – the man who would walk across a battlefield to save Clarke and only Clarke – rather than a Disciple seeking transcendence.

He's implying that he'd rather love her than all mankind. And what of it?

…...

Clarke is having a good day.

Madi looked really perky as she went to school this morning, genuinely excited about both playing soccer with her friends this afternoon and spending some time with Bellamy and Clarke this evening. Bellamy himself seems to be doing pretty well, and Clarke is honestly wondering about having another go at asking whether he still thinks transcendence is the answer. It's a difficult one, because she doesn't want him to feel like she's judging or trying to undermine him. But recently she thinks he's been giving more and more hints that he's having his doubts.

And Clarke herself is doing great, actually. She's nervous about Cadogan's visit due tomorrow, and knows that she needs to take the opportunity to emphasise that he mustn't hurt Madi. But she's managed to file that anxiety out of the way for now, more or less. She's having a pleasant morning walk around the village and then she'll pop home for some lunch before she heads out to meet Indra this afternoon.

All things considered, she figures that counts as a good day.

That's until she opens the living room door and watches her world fall apart.

Bellamy's in the living room. He's pacing and holding a most familiar sketchbook – some dangerous drawings of Madi's memories of the flame. And Clarke could have sworn she threw that out, somewhere along the line. But amidst the mess of marriage and conflict and transcendence, clearly she never quite got around to it.

Stupid. Such a stupid, deadly mistake.

She should have known better, she curses herself all at once. She should have known better than to think there could be such a thing as _a good day_ in her life – her life which is just one damn disaster after another, remember?

Bellamy looks up, sees her standing there. His face is drawn in tense lines. All at once her mind is flooded with crazy, unwanted intrusive thoughts – thoughts of stopping him, silencing him.

Shooting him.

She shakes it off. She can't hurt him. There must be a solution to all this.

"We need to talk." He says simply.

She gulps. That doesn't sound good. Is there any chance perhaps that she can negotiate? That she can remind him to be the kindhearted man she thinks she has started to recognise again, of late?

"What have you got there?" She asks him carefully, even as panicked tears start to creep up on her.

"Clarke. You know exactly what it is. I found it when I was tidying."

She caves. She caves all at once, shivering and crying and reaching out to the back of the nearest chair for support.

"Not Madi. Please, Bellamy. Not Madi. There has to be another way. Have them take me instead. I'll go into MCAP instead -"

"No you won't. Neither you nor Madi are going anywhere near MCAP." He says firmly.

"Ho – how?"

"I never saw this." He says shakily.

And then he casts the sketchbook straight into the fire that roars in the hearth. Maybe winter weather has some blessings after all, Clarke muses. She allows herself to hope, just a little. If he's throwing the sketchbook out and saying no one is going to MCAP, that must mean he doesn't plan to turn Madi in – right?

"I never saw that." He repeats, firmer. "Because I'm sick of war as a path to peace. Because you were right the morning after our wedding – we didn't come all this way to quit and live some half-life in some other realm. Because this life is _real._ " He concludes with conviction. "And because I really want a hug." He adds, more softly.

She doesn't hesitate. Still breathless, still weeping, she walks right into his open arms.

It feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Content note: flashback dream to Cillian and Josephine incident.


	7. Honey, I'm home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long and largely fluffy one! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for spotting all my stray commas. Happy reading!

The hug does not fix everything, of course. Bellamy likes to think that he and Clarke are pretty good at hugging, but he has yet to discover a way of hugging to save the human race.

Maybe they might find themselves working on that soon.

He pulls away first. He knows he must. If he doesn't, he'll simply stay here all day – or perhaps all _year_. He thinks Clarke seems reluctant to let him go, but he wonders whether that is just wishful thinking on his part.

"What the hell do we do now?" She asks.

"We work for peace some other way." He says simply.

She nods. "We don't have time to figure it out right this minute. I have to go meet Indra soon. I'm so sorry, I wish -"

"Clarke. Don't worry about it. I'm with you, and I'll still be with you when you get home." He tells her firmly.

"Thanks. I wish I could ask you to come with me to this next meeting."

"But you know I can't." He finishes for her. It's odd, he thinks, how he's already starting to read her thoughts once more. "I guess whatever plan we make, I'll be playing the inside man for a while?"

"I guess so." She agrees heavily.

"And Clarke – like I said, planning will wait till you get home. But there's one thing I want to get clear right from the start." He swallows stickily. "Doucette lives. No matter what, he is protected."

"Bellamy, he's part of it."

"I know." He snaps, frustrated. "I know he is. But I haven't forgotten that he was the only friend who stood by me when my supposed _best friend_ decided she wanted nothing more to do with me. So he lives."

Clarke is nodding. "Bellamy -"

"He lives." He repeats once more for good measure.

More nodding. And Clarke's crying pretty heavily, too – again. He really must stop making her cry. Perhaps throwing that reminder that she once abandoned him at her face was not necessary, he wonders.

She really has been the best friend he could ask for, recently.

He admits defeat and reaches out to give her another hug. That will make both of them feel better, he figures. Sure enough, Clarke squeezes her arms tight around his waist and seems to be trying to burrow her nose into his chest, he thinks.

His robes are getting awfully tearstained. Good. So they should.

"Doucette's a good guy." Clarke murmurs into his collarbone. "You're right, he should live. He didn't choose to be born on Bardo. None of them did." She sighs. "It's like Maya all over again."

"No it isn't, Clarke. We're going to do it better this time. We'll figure out a way – you and me, together."

She snorts out a damp laugh. "That sounds good, Bellamy. That sounds so good."

"Yeah." He agrees, because frankly, it sounds _awesome_.

They hug a few moments more. This time it is Clarke who pulls away first, visibly reluctant. He makes a mental note of that. Maybe a bit more hugging in the coming days would do both of them some good. Maybe he's not the only one craving human contact, here, and maybe this is his chance to repay Clarke for the kindness and understanding she has shown him since he came back from Etherea.

"I should get myself tidied up." Clarke says, visibly trying to laugh at herself. "People will know something is up if I go out there smiling but red-eyed."

"I guess."

He frowns, wonders whether his next words are wise.

To hell with it. He's learning to act from the heart again as he used to, since he moved into this home with Clarke.

"Is it bad that I like seeing you like this? More... human? I've been worried about you recently – or maybe since we got back from space. You always look like you're determined to hold it together, but only _just_ managing it."

"That's pretty much true." She admits ruefully.

"I know that now." He reminds her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. That's a thing they used to do before Praimfaya, he seems to remember, and he feels like today is a good day to bring it back. "You're OK. We'll figure it out. Go get your game face back on."

She smiles slightly and heads for the door. And if he stares at her as she goes? If he frowns a little when he sees her scrubbing her hand hard across her eyes?

He maintains that's perfectly normal behaviour on his part, when he's worrying about his best friend.

…...

Clarke acts normal through the walk across the village. She acts normal through her meeting with Indra. She acts normal as she strides back to the palace again, tries for all she is worth to fix an expression of determination and confident leadership tinged with anxiety on her face. It's an expression she's had cause to wear all too often, in recent weeks, so her face falls into old lines easily enough.

She's relieved about that. She knows that she cannot give anything away, here. It is not just Bellamy's safety that depends on her discretion. It may well be that the safety of all of them – and indeed the existence of the entire human race – depends on her ability to keep this quiet so that Bellamy can do what he does best and play the inside man.

Despite the need for secrecy, she thinks they should tell Madi the truth about Bellamy's change of opinion. But that is one of the many things she will figure out with him this afternoon, presumably.

She's looking forward to sitting down and working through some ideas with him. Maybe that's silly on her part, to get excited about a discussion of desperate plans to avert the end of the human race. But she's always enjoyed working together to solve problems with Bellamy, and she's not had a fix of it for far too long. She's absolutely desperate to get back to it.

So it is that, the moment she is through her own front door, she lets the frown fall off her face and relaxes her shoulders.

"Honey, I'm home." She calls.

It's supposed to be a joke. _Obviously_ it is supposed to be a joke. She and Bellamy have always shared snatched moments of humour together in the midst of difficult situations.

But based on the way he appears around the corner of the hallway with a look on his face that is somewhere between shock and delight, she cannot help but fear that he might not have _realised_ it is supposed to be a joke.

Does it matter? Probably not, in the grand scheme of things. If he thinks she is unironically going around throwing endearments at him, that's probably not a major concern in the face of Cadogan and the threat of transcendence.

"How was Indra?" He asks, when his face has resolved back to its usual calm, reassuring expression.

"She was fine. And don't worry, she didn't suspect anything."

"That's good. It's going to be tricky keeping this quiet." He muses. "But I think we have to if there's going to be any hope that I can do anything useful."

She frowns. "Trust me, you've already been more helpful than you know. You must realise that just knowing you have my back on this makes all the difference in the world to me."

He smiles slightly. "I knew you'd say something like that. Come on. Let's figure things out."

He gestures towards the living room, and she follows. She takes her usual seat on the couch, and he does likewise.

OK. Perhaps they do not take their _usual_ seats. Perhaps they sit a little closer than usual – far from sitting in each other's laps, but certainly not at opposite ends of the couch.

Clarke tries not to let herself overthink that. It's difficult, because overthinking things is what she does best. She focuses instead on her surroundings, notices that Bellamy has set them up with notebooks and pencils and water glasses. He's prepared quite the meeting, and it makes her lips tilt up at the corners quite without her permission. There's her Bellamy – competent and thoughtful, even when he is still learning how to trust his own judgement once again. It reminds her so much of the slight nervousness he carried about him after following Pike, his martyr-like levels of determination to do the right thing come hell or high water.

She just hopes he doesn't go and throw himself into danger any time soon.

"Clarke?"

She jolts a little. So much for not overthinking things. What would Jackson tell her to do? He'd remind her to compartmentalise. Perspective. What would her trusted friend say? Her trusted friend is right here, as it happens, of course. Her trusted friend is telling her to focus on the task at hand, so that's what she does.

"Let's start with the question of secrecy." She begins. "I know we're both agreed that we should keep it quiet that – that you're not for transcendence any more." She phrases it like that, because she thinks that some clunky phrasing about _switching sides_ would be too simplistic, in this case. She sort of wishes this could be not about _sides_ , but about the human race.

Huh. For all mankind. Maybe they have some common ground, after all.

"Yes." Bellamy says, but his tone does not suggest agreement so much as wondering where she is going with this.

Clarke sucks in a breath. "I think we should tell Madi the truth. She's very mature for her age. And she might be in danger from the Disciples, so I -"

"Yes." Bellamy interrupts her. "Of course we tell Madi. She's your daughter, my stepdaughter. She _lives_ here with us. It would be nearly impossible to keep it from her." He looks away, thoughtful. "I think telling her is _right_ , too. I think we should trust her with this. If I once thought she was old enough to have that chip in her head, I have to credit her with the maturity to know the truth, now. And you're right – it affects her. If you think she can take the truth without getting too anxious, we should tell her."

"I think she'll be _less_ anxious if she knows the full truth. She'll feel better protected knowing you've got her back. And I think it would really make things worse to suspect that her own mother and stepfather are keeping something from her."

Bellamy nods. "Then we tell her. At supper tonight? We tell her together?"

"You should tell her." Clarke suggests instead. "She's already starting to trust and respect you again. I think you telling her exactly what happened yourself will be good for your relationship."

He simply nods. Good god, but she's missed working with this man. He's just so _solid_. Reliable. Dependable.

A little voice in her head reminds her that he has betrayed her before now – seriously and recently, in fact. But she chooses to ignore it. She chooses to ignore, too, any suggestion that he is faking his change of heart. Bellamy isn't great at acting different from his emotions, in her experience, for all that he is a specialist in the slightly different skill of playing the inside man. And she knows him well enough to be confident that his words and actions today speak the truth.

"Now we need a plan." He prompts her, smiling gently, running his pencil absently over the page. That makes her smile even more. She's pleased she introduced him to drawing as a hobby. But it's at least a little amusing that he's now reached the point where he can't sit in a serious meeting without doodling.

It's good to see him more lighthearted, even in the face of heavy trouble.

"I don't really know where to start." She admits. "I know this is supposed to be my area. But my brain is still pretty scrambled with anxiety and pretty much all I can think right now is _thank god Bellamy is with me_."

He grins. "Don't look at me. It's not my area."

"You're underselling yourself. You pulled off a big mission in Mount Weather."

"Yeah. But we've already agreed we don't want to do it like that." He points out. "Minimal casualties, remember? It's all about peace this time."

"I know." She frowns. "What about when you saved me from Josephine and brought down the Primes? You were incredible there." Maybe she's putting her heart on her sleeve a bit too blatantly with how openly she's been praising him today. But honestly, she has the feeling he could do with the boost to his self esteem.

He nods thoughtfully. "That was better. Fewer casualties. But still messy – we didn't appreciate how obsessed they were with their religion."

"We're not going to make that mistake this time, since you've been inside their religion. We know how important hearts and minds are this time round."

"Yeah. You're right. So we need to take account of how devoted they are to their faith and figure out a way round that. It won't be easy – I was a recent convert and it's still taken weeks of living with you to figure out how I really feel about it. And – and most of them don't have a _Clarke._ " He points out, eyes averted.

She swallows. _A Clarke_. What's that supposed to mean? A rival turned leader turned best friend? One who got away – or one left behind?

She shakes herself. This is not the time to worry about that.

"You're right. It won't be easy. But that's where you come in. You know their faith well and you know some of them as individuals really well. What can you do from the inside to weaken that?"

He looks thoughtful. "I guess I have some ideas. I'll try talking to Doucette – but without giving anything away. He seems more interested in happiness than faith, doesn't he?"

Clarke nods. That is her impression of the man, too, for all that he is the First Disciple now. And of course Bellamy knows him far better, so if Bellamy says it is so, then she trusts him.

"See how you get on with that. Then we'll have to figure out a way to take out the key players with minimal casualties." She suggests. "That's how Sanctum went better than Mount Weather, isn't it? We took down the Primes rather than hundreds of innocent civilians."

"We learned how to do better." He agrees with a soft smile.

She frowns. " _We're_ _learning_ how to do better." She corrects him firmly.

He nods. "Yeah. You're right."

They sit and hatch their plans a while longer. But eventually discussion of strengths and weaknesses gives way to something a little less productive – or at least, to something that is productive in a different way. Instead of talking strategy, Clarke asks after what Bellamy is doodling. Instead of sharing ideas, they share tentative laughter. And that is useful in its own way, she believes. The two of them need to spend some time getting to know each other once again without the barrier of truth versus transcendence standing between them.

It's been an odd afternoon, in some ways. She and Bellamy still work well together in that they compliment each other's strengths and weaknesses. But they do not read each other's tone or body language as fluently as they used to, she thinks. It feels a little like she's having to put effort into understanding him sometimes, and she's not used to it.

And yet twenty-four hours ago, she believed he was her enemy, among other things. It's rather lovely to shed that fear and find that, today, he is simply her best friend.

…...

Clarke isn't sure what to expect from sharing the news with Madi over supper. On the one hand, she likes to think she knows her daughter very well indeed after six years in her sole company.

On the other hand, she's never had to tell her that her stepfather is defecting before.

In fact, _she_ will not be telling Madi about Bellamy's change of heart – or about him _finding_ his heart again, perhaps she should say. She's firmly resolved that it is his news to share and that he will explain the situation in his own words.

So it is that they sit down to eat, and within seconds Madi's eyes are flickering urgently between Clarke and Bellamy.

"What is it? What's going on?" Madi asks, more curious than truly alarmed. That's good – it's an improvement that she feels safe and calm, at least while she's at home, these days.

Bellamy sends Clarke a pointed look. She meets him right in the eyes, gives him a nod to encourage him to start talking. He nods in turn, takes a deep breath.

It really is lovely to be on the same side as him again.

"I won't be working towards the goal of transcendence any more." He says, carefully light, as if discussing a work assignment on the Ark. "I'll be working with Clarke to try and find a way for everyone to live in peace."

Madi narrows her eyes. "And why should we believe that? How do we know you're not just saying that to spy on us better?" She sounds more inquisitive than confrontational, Clarke thinks – as if she's checking because too much bad luck has made her naturally cautious and suspicious, rather than as if she truly believes Bellamy is out to betray them again.

All the same, Clarke decides this is her cue to join the conversation. "He could have turned us in today, Madi. He could have turned _you_ in. He found your sketchbook – the one with the memories of the flame."

The colour drains from Madi's face all at once. "I – I – where was it? I thought I lost it."

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Clarke asks softly.

"Because I knew you'd worry about me more. And you already worry about me so much." Madi says in a rather small voice.

"Maybe this is a lesson that it's always worth telling me and Clarke the truth, even if you think it will worry us." Bellamy says mildly. "There's no need to worry about it any more, Madi. It's gone. I'm sorry for destroying your drawings without asking you but under the circumstances -"

"You did the right thing." Madi concludes. "Thanks. Thanks for looking out for me."

"That's what disappointing stepfathers are for." He jokes tiredly.

Madi tries for a small smile. It's a nervous smile, but it's there. "I'm not so disappointed any more. It's good to hear you guys are on the same side again. What can I do to help?"

"We're trying not to think of taking _sides_." Bellamy explains. "We're hoping to find some common ground and peace and bring down Cadogan with minimal casualties. But there's nothing we need you to do right now except stay safe, Madi."

She wrinkles her nose slightly. "I knew you'd say that."

Clarke chuckles reluctantly and joins in. "He's right, Madi. Stick close to us and the guards and let us figure it out."

Madi nods, just a little reluctant. "OK. It really is good to see you two working together again."

"I'll agree with that." Clarke says.

Bellamy doesn't say anything, she notes. He simply smiles.

The rest of supper passes smoothly enough. Madi asks a lot of blatantly probing questions about the plan, Bellamy and Clarke choose not to answer them. Clarke finds herself pleased at this evidence of Madi's youthful naivety, actually. After that episode with the flame in her head and her as Commander of Wonkru, it's quite lovely to be faced with proof that she's really just a twelve year old who is not ready to throw herself into politics any time soon.

They move to the living room after supper. Clarke takes up a sketchbook and some charcoal, watches Madi do the same.

"Try not to draw anything dangerous this time." She knows her daughter is no fool, but she feels a pressing need to warn her all the same. She'd never forgive herself, she thinks, if Madi got herself into trouble with her drawings – not after today's near miss.

"I won't." Madi agrees, taking a seat unusually close by Clarke's side. She doesn't often sit on the couch with her mother.

Well, then. Apparently Clarke is not the only one who has had a fright today. But she's pleased to note that Madi's anxiety is not intruding on her life too much, at the moment. It's just _there_ , making her want to share the couch cuddled up to her mum, and that's fine. It's good that it appears somewhat more manageable.

Clarke is surprised when Bellamy takes his now-usual place on the other end of the couch, just the far side of Madi. She's certain the three of them have never sat together like this before. And she's pretty sure she hasn't seen Bellamy and Madi sit next to each other at all since they moved into the palace together.

"Everyone OK?" She asks carefully, shuffling a little in her seat for show. Better they think it's a question about all-round comfort than she makes anyone feel awkward by asking how they're feeling in themselves.

"I'm good." Madi chirps, more or less bright, leaning into Clarke's side a little.

"I'm all out of charcoal." Bellamy offers, apologetic. "That piece you gave me when we got married is pretty much useless now."

Clarke smiles a wry smile. She cannot help it. Ironic that he should run out of charcoal on the very day he saved Madi's life by consigning her sketchbook to the flames. For one brief moment, she wonders about joking that he should make do with a piece out of the fire place.

No. If she _never_ jokes about what almost happened at lunch time, it will be too soon.

"Here. Take another one of mine. My husband gave me way too many charcoal sticks for a wedding gift." She tells him, tone light.

He grins. "Do you think he was overcompensating for something?"

She snorts out a laugh. She's missed his irreverent sense of humour. She shakes her head at him, mock scornful, and hands him a piece of charcoal.

She pretends not to notice that his hand lingers on hers rather longer than is strictly necessary to accept a stick of burnt wood.

Madi, meanwhile, is apparently oblivious. She's cheerfully drawing a scene from Shallow Valley. And Clarke decides to take a lead from her daughter – today is a day for drawing happy memories, more or less. So that's why she makes an attempt at a scene from her first Unity Day on the ground. It's the closest thing to a happy memory she has of that time on Earth, she fears. It was certainly cheerful enough until the shooting started.

A few minutes in, she glances over at Bellamy. He's staring into space, a blank piece of paper resting over a book on his knees.

"Bellamy?" She prompts him gently.

He jumps a little as if shocked. "Sorry. Just – not sure what to draw."

"You can still draw Etherea." She rushes to assure him. "Just because you don't want transcendence any more doesn't mean that wasn't an important part of your life."

He shakes his head. "It's not that. I know I could draw that. But I don't want to, today. I wanted to draw something more lighthearted like you guys are doing but I can't decide where to start."

"You mean you don't know how to draw the scene you've picked, or you didn't pick a memory yet?" Madi asks.

"I mean I don't know what to draw." He admits, jaw tight.

Clarke's wondering about patting him on the shoulder, or something. He really does seem to be keen on physical contact today. But Madi has a different solution, it turns out.

"Name some happy memories. Don't think about it too hard, just list them. Go." She says eagerly.

Bellamy does not quite set off with the pace and enthusiasm Madi seemed to be trying for. But he does nod slowly and start making a list out loud.

"OK. Unity Day, but Clarke's taken that. Coming back to Earth and learning Clarke was alive, obviously. Seeing my sister walk out of the dropship and be first onto Earth. Those couple of seconds after ALIE was shut down before you told me about Praimfaya." He says, looking Clarke right in the eye.

She swallows hard. A lot of those memories seem to feature her, as far as she can tell. And she can't help but notice, too, that it's a pitifully short list. She thought _she_ had lived a sad life, of late, but she finds herself thinking that probably Bellamy has had it even worse.

Maybe it's not a competition. Maybe it's just an opportunity for them to help each other out with finding some happiness.

"Why not draw returning to Earth?" Madi asks.

Bellamy bites his lip. "Because that wasn't only happy. It was confusing and scary too, and Clarke was a prisoner. And which part would I draw? You running out of the trees, Madi? Or actually meeting with Clarke?"

Clarke is following their conversation, because she values time spent as a family like this. But she is at least half focussing on a conclusion of her own.

She knows what Bellamy needs to draw.

"How about drawing the memory of your sister and the dropship door?" She asks. "You could give it to her next time you see her. That might help you two to heal."

Bellamy frowns. "You think she'd like that? Would she even – would she accept it?"

"She'd accept it." Clarke says all at once. If she knows Octavia half as well as she thinks she does, it's the truth. And besides which, she likes to think she knows a thing or two about loving Bellamy Blake. If she has managed to welcome him back into her life, she's pretty certain Octavia can stretch as far as accepting and discussing a drawing.

It's decided. Bellamy is drawing Octavia stepping out of the dropship. Clarke and Madi have their happy memories to sketch, too. So it is that the three of them pass a little time just sitting quietly together and working on their different projects. And then, as they finish their sketches, they pass them around between each other and offer encouraging comments.

It's a damn sight more relaxed than Clarke ever expected this household to be, that's for sure.

At last, it is time for Madi to go to bed. Clarke goes upstairs with her, paces in the hallway while she changes and while she brushes her teeth. She stops short of actually tucking her into the covers or offering a bed time story, because she knows her little girl is not so little any more and does not want to be patronised.

But she does stay there, talking softly with her about nothing in particular, until her eyes drift closed. And then, as usual, she watches from the door a little longer. Just to check her daughter doesn't have any nightmares, perhaps. It's a silly thing, and she knows she's only doing it out of anxiety. But it makes her feel more comfortable, to watch over Madi like this, so she doesn't see the harm in doing it.

She's surprised when she hears the tread of quiet footsteps, turns and sees Bellamy padding softly down the corridor.

"She asleep?" He whispers.

She nods.

"Come to bed, Clarke. Get some rest."

Clarke flushes. _Come to bed_. She could swear she's imagined Bellamy saying that to her a thousand times before now, but never under quite these circumstances. She knows he doesn't mean anything romantic by it – so much is obvious in his tone. She's something of an expert at reading him, after all. But all the same, she thinks he made an unfortunate choice of words, there.

He either doesn't notice her red cheeks, or chooses to pretend he doesn't. He simply turns to head back down the hall, throwing a glance over his shoulder as if to check she's following.

They don't talk much as they prepare for bed. They flit past each other, silently and seamlessly, to take shifts in the bathroom. They each change while the other is out of the bedroom, and Clarke is beneath the covers before Bellamy gets back across the threshold. They have made a smooth rhythm of living together, these last few weeks, almost by accident. This is simply a part of that familiar routine.

But when Clarke is lying in bed, watching Bellamy walk across the room towards her, the situation becomes suddenly _less_ familiar.

"How do you feel about hugs?" He asks, voice level and a little too careful, she thinks.

"I like them." She says simply. She wonders whether this is going where she hopes it is going.

"Yeah? Me too." He swallows loudly. He's about a foot from the bed, now, looking at it as if it might bite.

She decides to help him out. "It's been really good to get comfortable hugging each other again today. I don't know why I didn't have the courage to try it before. You've been looking like you could use a hug." She admits honestly.

"Yeah. I've been – yeah." He takes a deep breath, tries again. "You're right. I've been wishing for more human contact for a long time. Is that an Etherea thing or a Disciple thing or what?"

She smiles sadly. "No idea. All of the above? I didn't get stranded on a strange planet for three months and I still like hugs."

He laughs a little. She was hoping he would. It's a strained laugh, but it's there.

She tries pushing the matter a little further. "Hugs are great. We should hug more."

He nods stiffly. "Yeah. Agreed. And – is hugging in bed OK, or does that cross some kind of line?"

"Bellamy. We're married. We've been best friends almost as long as we've known each other. And we have _always_ hugged when there's a crisis to deal with. I think we're past the point of worrying about whether it's socially acceptable for best friends to hug in bed."

He laughs – a big, warm sound, the tension of this absurd conversation melting away as a grin splits his cheeks.

"Should have known you'd say something like that." He says, throwing back the covers. "Shuffle this way, won't you? My pillow's better."

She snorts. There's nothing wrong with her pillow, thank you very much. But her side of the bed is still chilly, what with it being winter and all, so she's more than happy to move towards his warmth.

She pauses a little when she's just barely touching his chest. She doesn't know what the rules are, here. They agreed to a bit of friendly hugging in bed, but she doesn't want to do the wrong thing or make him uncomfortable. Most of all, however much she may be a brave woman, she doesn't want to risk screwing this up just as things between her and Bellamy are finally comfortable once more. He was her best friend long before he was her husband – or even before she realised she was in love with him – and she'll gladly take what they had going this evening and preserve that forever, if that is as good as things get between them.

Bellamy is either feeling less hesitant, or is just so overwhelmingly desperate for a hug that hesitation doesn't hold him back. He bundles her up in his arms much like he would hug her during the day, his arms firm around her back, her chin tucked into his chest.

"This OK?" He asks, but he sounds confident, she thinks. He's asking for the sake of politeness and respect, not because he actually has any doubts.

"Perfect." She agrees, arranging her ear more comfortably on his bicep. "Just one question. Are you actually expecting to be able to sleep like this?"

He laughs, and the rush of breath tickles the crown of her head. "Yeah. Trust me. I've never felt more comfortable."

Is it pathetic that she's feeling much the same way? Is it desperate? Is she leaving herself open to being hurt?

In this moment, she feels too safe and comfortable and deliciously tired to care.

…...

Bellamy sleeps well.

 _Obviously_ he sleeps well. His wife and best friend are the same person, and they're now back on hugging terms. How could he not sleep well? He sleeps sound and deep and long, and wakes up to Clarke's arm slung over his chest and his hand resting on her waist and her neck twisted at an angle that looks frankly uncomfortable but also incredibly sweet. There's just something domestic and vulnerable about seeing her sprawled all over him and the pillows and the bed like this.

They can't lie there all day, of course. They get up and get dressed. Bellamy throws his underwear and trousers and shirt on in the bathroom, as is his usual habit. And then he wanders back to the bedroom to find Clarke, fully dressed, frowning at his Disciple robe on its hanger.

"I know you have to put it on." She says, frowning at it even harder. "But I don't like it all the same."

"I know. I don't either. But I can't exactly go out there wearing an Arkadia guard jacket and a Clarke Griffin memorial henley, can I?"

She gasps. Damn it. He was trying for a laugh, there.

"Clarke?"

"What did you just say?"

"I can't wear one of the old Skaikru jackets. That would give the game away. I have to keep up the appearance of being a Disciple."

"No. The – the other thing. About a henley."

He swallows, bites his lip. "I got a taste for wearing henleys in space." He says shortly.

"Bellamy -"

"You heard me the first time." He snaps. "I know it was a crazy way to remember you, OK? I know. What kind of guy remembers the one who got away by wearing the same style of shirt as she used to like? Apparently this kind. Like you said – all heart, no sense."

"That's not what I said." She chastises him softly, turning from staring at that robe at long last to look him in the eye, instead.

"It's what I heard. Or – what I heard when I tried to remember that conversation after I left you, at least."

Clarke opens her mouth as if to say something. And all at once he cannot face it. This is a happy morning, damn it. He and Clarke are on the same page. They hug each other at night now. And this morning he's going to go meet with Doucette and subtly take steps towards a peaceful solution for the human race.

He is not interested in starting this happy morning by listening to Clarke forgiving for the thousandth time something he has long since condemned as unforgivable.

"Come on, Clarke. Stop torturing yourself. We're good, but I do have to put the robes on. We can find me a jacket and a henley when all this is done."

She nods, smiles cautiously. "We really have better things to worry about right now, don't we?"

"You can say that again." He agrees, yet all the while he is smiling right back at her. She always has had a way of making him smile come hell or high water.

He pulls her in for a quick half-hug, just an arm briefly pulled tight around her shoulders before he moves on to donning his robe and facing the day. It's not a gesture he would have tried, back before Praimfaya. Even when they were at their most comfortable with each other – and very much in love, as he now knows too late – they were more inclined to simply occupy each other's personal space rather than actually hug every second of every day. But Clarke did say last night that she likes hugging, and they both seem to have agreed that some human contact will do them good.

In other words, he's not about to question the first bit of good luck he's had in months.

The morning flows smoothly – walking down the stairs just ahead of Clarke, eating breakfast with her and Madi, heading towards the anomaly stone to meet Doucette. Clarke comes with him to speak to Cadogan, but they part ways when the delegation from Bardo arrives. Bellamy has something most particular to ask Doucette, you see, that he hopes will be a first step on the path to peace.

He greats his second-best friend with a hug, and it's a good hug, but it's not quite a _Clarke_ hug. And then he takes care to chat about everything and nothing for a few minutes, because Doucette will know that something is up if he ploughs straight on with the risky topic he wants to discuss. But once the conversation is in full flow, and Doucette himself opens the subject by asking after Clarke, Bellamy decides it is time to test the waters with his preciously planned question.

"She's really well. It's good to see both her and Madi feeling calmer." He takes a deep breath. "Do you – d'you think it's possible that I could have... special feelings for Clarke and Madi but still be a good Disciple? Cadogan had a family once. I just mean something like that."

Doucette fixes him with a look that firmly suggests he has lost his mind. "Face it, Bellamy. You already _do_ have special feelings for them. You always have. I'm beginning to realise that doesn't change the fact that you're a good man and a fine Disciple."

Bellamy feels bile rising in his throat. He's _not_ a fine Disciple. He's a traitor to the cause – and he's sure that's the right thing to do, but he still doesn't feel good about himself for it.

He still doesn't feel good about siding against the man who saved him.

No. This is not about _sides._ This is about peace for everyone. He just needs to trust Clarke – and trust _himself_ , which may well prove more challenging – and remember that Doucette is protected no matter what.

"Thank you. I know _our_ friendship is special to me as well." He says, inadequate but heartfelt.

Doucette nods, grins a little. "I know. Same to you."

So that's it. In the light of the Shepherd, First Disciple Doucette confirms that it's fine to have particular feelings for the people close to you.

Well isn't this an interesting turn of events?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. None of this half-hearted crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're over half way through this fic now and I don't know how I feel about that! Please enjoy some fluff and angst. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for high-speed betaing! Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: ongoing anxiety and depression.

Clarke finds that she is more or less happy, in the days that follow. It's an interesting experience – she learns for the first time in her life that happiness and intense anxiety can coexist. She can watch nervously whilst Madi sleeps at night, yet enjoy a bedtime chat and hug with Bellamy. She can feel nervous about Cadogan's schemes, yet relish the chance to sit and plan for a peaceful resolution with her husband. In short, she can fret about the safety of her family, yet also live for the moments they all sit around the supper table together.

Life is not perfect, of course. She has two more horrific nightmares about Cillian blended with Bellamy in the space of three days, and it leaves her tired and shaky. And Cadogan has signed an addendum to the peace treaty regarding Madi's specific protection, but Clarke knows he would overturn it in a second if he thought that was a step on the road to transcendence.

But really, she finds that there is more joy in her life than she has known for quite some time. Having Bellamy back as her best friend and right-hand-man feels even better now that she knows what it is like to lose him. And Madi is growing more confident and secure by the day, as the nightmares of Sheidheda recede.

But here she is lying fretfully awake early in the morning and waiting for Bellamy to stir.

Maybe one day she will say goodbye to this anxiety. But for now, at least she is learning to live with it.

"Should have woken me up." Bellamy grumbles, voice still fuzzy with sleep.

She grins over at him where his head lies on the pillow next to hers. "I'm alright. Really. I was fine just lying here and watching you sleep." It's a small kind of progress, but it's progress all the same.

He smiles softly, snuggles down into his pillow a little deeper. It makes her want to reach out and stroke his face, but she fears that might be too much. They do a lot of carefully platonic cuddling, both in and out of bed. But she suspects face stroking probably crosses a line.

A line she is fast realising she desperately wants to cross.

That's neither here nor there. She's loved Bellamy for years, and she'll keep loving him whether he loves her or not. That's just the way it is. She's got the hang of that now – she's not _resigned to it_ so much as embracing it. He's a good guy – better than he gives himself credit for – and he deserves to be loved so truly and altruistically.

He's still smiling at her. She draws her focus back to that. No sense worrying about what she cannot change – she's getting better at setting such concerns aside in their small mental boxes.

"Go back to sleep." She chides him softly.

"No. Not now I know you're already up. I don't want to miss out on the fun."

She snorts, finds herself smiling at the same time. It makes for an odd combination. It's just so _Bellamy_ , to cover the truth with a strained joke like that. She knows full well that he means he doesn't want to go back to sleep and leave her alone with her worries. And he must know that she knows – that's how their friendship works.

She supposes that if they're awake now, they should try for some coherent conversation.

"Have you got any plans for the day?" She asks him.

He frowns. "Working on it. I think I should go see O. I need to give her that drawing I did last week. I still – I haven't dared do that yet." He mutters.

"That's OK." She rushes to assure him. "That's _fine_. Take your time."

He nods slightly, turns it into another snuggle into his pillow. Good god, but he looks cute doing that. It's starting to drive her mad, imagining what it might be like to have him snuggle into her neck or chest like that instead.

"I should go see Echo too."

Silence falls, thick and heavy. Of course it does. Mentioning an ex-girlfriend is a pretty efficient way of making a marriage bed turn cold.

Clarke swallows thickly, fishes for something to say. She should encourage this, she knows. He was with Echo for _years_. And she and Clarke are reasonably close friends now, too. She should want the two of them to make peace.

But it's difficult. It's petty, but she feels jealous at the thought of them hitting it off again. If Bellamy doesn't believe in transcendence any more, does he believe in love? Does he want to dissolve this marriage when it ceases to serve its purpose as a cover story and head back to Echo? Sure, he talked about having loved Clarke, the morning after the wedding. But he never made any attempt to define what he meant by that. For all she knows, he was speaking platonically, and he's starting to pine for Echo again now his head is clearing.

She swallows again. She can do this. She's done harder things before now than helping her husband make up with his former lover.

Hasn't she?

"You could go see Echo if you're feeling ready." She says cautiously.

He frowns deeply, makes no answer.

"What is it?" She prompts.

"I'm not feeling ready." He admits, rolling right onto his back and staring, dejected, at the ceiling rather than meeting her gaze. "I know I should be. She'll forgive me – she _loved_ me. But – it feels like too much. I don't know what to stay or where to start."

"I get that." Clarke rushes to assure him. "Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to – I don't know – practise some lines? Or have me come with you?" She cannot think of anything more awkward, but she'd do that and more for love of him.

"Honestly – I know this is a lot to ask – but..." He pauses. She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. He tries again. "Could I ask you to go see her with a message? To – to work up to actually trying to talk with her myself?"

Clarke nods at once. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you need."

That gives him pause. That has him rolling back onto his side, snuggling so sweetly back into his pillow.

"You'd really do that?"

"Bellamy. You've saved my life so often I've lost count. I think I can deal with carrying an emotional message to a friend for you."

He tries for a smile, gives a slightly damp chuckle.

"What do you want me to say?" She presses gently.

"I'd like to tell her that – that I'm working for peace now. That I'm not the enemy." Bellamy mutters. "I want to tell my sister the truth about that today too. I _really_ want to tell them both. But I guess – I wanted to run that past you first. Telling more people is a risk."

"Telling your sister and your girlfriend sounds safe to me." Clarke points out, brow quirked. "They won't say anything. And they both know about keeping secrets. If it's important to you to tell them, we should tell them."

He nods. He is silent for a moment. And when he speaks up, his words have nothing to do with the secret or the plan or any such thing.

"I figure she's pretty firmly my _ex_ girlfriend at this point." He says.

She can't read his tone. That takes her by surprise, because she's got good at reading him again as he's come back to himself. Sure, it's occasionally felt a little awkward to be deliberately _trying_ to work with him rather than just feeling it happen organically. But by and large, she's understanding him very well these days.

So why can she not make sense of him now?

It's the emotional entanglement, she decides. She's never been good at processing his relationship with Echo. For all that she's a pragmatic and sensible woman there is no doubt that she has always been profoundly jealous of their love.

"Sorry about that." She says neutrally. "I guess relationships suffer when you get stranded on an isolated planet or get hung up on the fate of the human race."

He barks out a tight laugh. "Yeah. You can say that again. Not ours though – I feel like we're stronger than ever." He tells her warmly.

"I can agree with that." She says. She can agree with it _easily_. She cannot help but feel moved that their friendship and her understanding means so much to him that she was able to help him get his head cleared and healthy after Etherea, that she was enough to be even part of what brought him back to himself.

Maybe, when she looks at it like that, she can stop being jealous of Echo.

…...

Going to see Echo is a lot less awkward than discussing the idea with Bellamy, of course. Echo is not in the business of creating emotional drama, in Clarke's experience. She's a rather straightforward sort of a woman – yet complicated at the same time, in a vastly different way.

So it is that Clarke knocks on the door of her quarters, and is welcomed inside, and takes a seat on the couch.

"Is this a social call or is something going on?" Echo asks mildly, offering Clarke a drink.

She takes the cup of Jo juice and sips thoughtfully. "A bit of both. It's a social call with a purpose."

Echo laughs shortly. "My favourite kind. What can I help you with?"

"Nothing much, yet. Let me start at the beginning." She heaves in a breath. "What I'm about to tell you stays in this room. I mean that absolutely. You, Octavia, Madi, Bellamy and I will be the only people to know."

Echo nods, eyes narrowed. Clarke's pretty sure she's already figured out half of what's coming next. She wasn't a spy by accident – that much is obvious.

"Bellamy isn't working for Cadogan any more."

"He's back." Echo summarises shortly.

"Yes and no." Clarke admits, honest and a little raw. "He's still – he's different in some ways. And he's not going to be fighting for this one. He's decided he wants to work with me to take down Cadogan as long as it's done peacefully. Minimal casualties."

Echo nods. "That sounds more like Bellamy than where we were before." She points out.

"Yeah. Exactly. He doesn't want any of his friends hurt – that's his priority again. And he wants peace for the whole human race rather than transcendence."

Another nod. "What do you need me to do?"

Clarke bites her lip. "Nothing yet. If you've got any genius ideas for how to lead a peaceful revolution I'd love to hear them. But I'm not really here for your help." She swallows thickly. "I'm here because Bellamy's trying to rebuild his bridges. He's pretty comfortable with me and Madi now. He's started seeing his sister very occasionally. He's – he's trying to work on putting things right with you. But he wasn't ready to come here himself just yet. So he asked me to tell you that he's not working for Cadogan and send his best wishes."

She pauses, breath held high in her chest, waits for Echo's response. Now she's said it out loud, she cannot help but feel that it sounds _foolish_. It made perfect sense, this morning, when she offered to come here. Bellamy was lying next to her looking earnest and upset and trying to do the right thing. _Obviously_ she wanted to help him out. But now she wonders whether perhaps this was just an incredibly awkward idea.

She forces herself to breathe into her belly, deeper and slower. Echo may be sharp, but she's not unkind – at least not when people she cares about are involved. And she does still care about Bellamy, doesn't she? If nothing else she's friends with Clarke, even if they are not exactly the closest.

Seconds pass. Echo's face is almost perfectly still, her lightly furrowed brows the only sign she's still processing. Clarke finds her incredibly difficult to read – she is not a woman who shows her emotions openly on her face, for the most part.

But there's something soft about her eyes that has Clarke starting to wonder if it might be good news.

"Tell him I say hi." Echo says at last, lips twisted into a wry half-smile. "I don't know what else there is to say. I'm happy to hear he's working for peace now. I – I hope he's _well_." She says, with firm emphasis.

Clarke nods. "He's as well as could be expected, given everything that happened."

Echo nods stiffly. Clarke wonders what is going on behind her careful mask. It must be a difficult message to receive, she suspects. _Mixed feelings_ sounds like an understatement.

That's why she tries reaching out. "Let me know if you need to talk. I can't imagine how tough this is for you. I know this has been difficult for everyone."

"Sounds like it's been most difficult for Bellamy." Echo says, and for the first time, Clarke thinks she can hear sadness in her tone. "Thanks, Clarke. Don't worry about me. I guess I'll probably talk to Hope about it." She smiles faintly. "Not about him changing his mind – I understand that has to be top secret. But about – the rest."

"Yeah. That could be a good idea." Clarke keeps her voice level. This is not the time for asking just how much, exactly, Echo shares with Hope these days.

Echo nods again, brisker. With a sense of finality, perhaps. "Thank you for stopping by. Give Bellamy my best wishes."

"I will do." Clarke gets to her feet, understanding that this is her cue to leave. "Take care, Echo."

"You too. Take care of him and remember to take care of yourself." A loud swallow. Echo continues in a voice rather shakier than Clarke has heard her use before. "And – well done. Well done for having the patience to get through to him. No one else could have seen him through this."

 _No one else could have seen him through this_.

Is that Echo conceding defeat?

No. Of course it isn't. Love and war are not at all the same thing – even if, in Clarke's experience, the human race has a frustrating habit of tangling the two together.

Maybe it's Echo acknowledging that times have changed. That love is complicated and messy and that three years in space is not the same as three months on Etherea or even three weeks on Sanctum.

Maybe it's just two sad women brought together by loving the same broken man.

…...

Bellamy feels almost confident, as he knocks on Octavia's door this morning. He's getting the hang of love again now, he thinks. Not just that kind of inescapable love he feels for Clarke that broke through the fog of Etherea and made him feel _corrupted_ , somehow, in the early days after the wedding when he was still set on being a Disciple. But the warm, willing, _chosen_ kind of love.

The sort of love that makes real life worthwhile.

To be clear, he's pretty sure he feels both kinds for Clarke. He's just working up to forgiving himself far enough to embrace it. He sort of feels allowed to love his sister again, because she's blood. But Clarke is the wife who somehow stood by him even when he would have left her for dead in the name of the Shepherd, and that feels like a hell of a debt to repay.

He brushes that thought aside. This is not the time or the place – and he's getting a little better at taking control of his thoughts like this, now the fog is clearing.

His sister opens the door and smiles. She actually full on _smiles_ at him, and if Bellamy wasn't already convinced that choosing peace over transcendence was the right choice, he thinks that would be enough to strengthen his resolve.

"Hey, O. Is this a good time to visit?" He asks. He's practised that simple line in his head a thousand times on the walk over here, it feels like.

"Bell. Hey, come on in."

He does as she suggests. He follows her down the hallway, into the small living room, takes a seat. He hasn't spoken since that greeting, but he doesn't think it sounds like the most uncomfortable silence in the world.

He would know. He had his fair share of horrific quietness at the breakfast table when he first married Clarke.

"How are you doing?" Octavia asks, settling into a chair herself.

"Pretty good." He says, and honestly, it's not that far off being the truth. "Here. I brought you something. It's silly but – here." He hands the drawing over.

She takes it from him with slow hands, her brows creased thoughtfully. "You did this? I didn't know you were into drawing."

He nods eagerly. This is a conversation he feels almost equipped to face, actually. If they stick with drawing they might be alright.

"Yeah. I've gotten very into it since I moved in with Clarke and Madi. You know they both like it, so we sit and draw together in the evenings."

"That sounds nice." Octavia offers, encouraging.

"Yeah. It's fun. We chat about what we're drawing and have a laugh together. And it's peaceful, too. It was Clarke first got me into it." He swallows, gathers his courage. "She thought it might help me with – with processing, I guess. Working through how I was feeling about Etherea and the wedding and everything. She thought it might be... healthy."

"You mean she thought it might be a kind of therapy." Octavia says knowingly.

He swallows again, nods once. He never thought he'd see the day when he and his sister discussed his mental health openly like this. A lot has changed, since he watched her disappear into that cloud of green.

"Is it working?" She asks gently.

He nods rather more genuinely this time. "Yeah. It's great. We've been talking a lot about what happened while we draw. It's helping me make sense of it."

"That's really great, Bellamy. You seem more relaxed." She offers brightly.

"Yeah." He takes a steadying breath. "It's not just that, O. I've got some news to tell you and it mustn't go beyond this room."

She nods, eyes serious.

"I'm not working for Cadogan and transcendence any more. I'm trying to help Clarke find a peaceful solution for everyone."

"No last war?"

"No last war." He agrees firmly.

"That's great, big brother. I'm proud of you."

His jaw almost hits the floor. Chatting about therapy was one thing, but _I'm proud of you_? "Thanks, O."

She smiles slightly. "I guess Clarke's over the moon that – you know. That you're back."

He laughs stiffly. "Clarke seems set on convincing me I never went anywhere. I think she's trying to make up for – for Bardo. She hasn't forgiven herself yet for reacting so badly to the shock."

Octavia snorts without humour. "Typical Clarke. You'll talk her round, right? You'll take care of her. You'll show her she's allowed to forgive herself."

"I'm trying." He agrees at once.

Silence falls. He lets it. He doesn't know whether this is silence that tells him his visit is nearly over, or simply silence that tells him his sister is lost for words. He's not so good at reading her, still. He needs more practice, more visits like this.

"I'm sorry." Octavia says at length. "I'm sorry that I -"

"It's OK." He says at once, because he always will.

"No. It's not. Let me say this, Bellamy." She takes a shaky breath. "Every time I screw up, you forgive me like it's nothing. All my life you've been letting me chip away at your soul and I'm worried at this rate there'll be nothing left. I was _awful_ to you that day, Bellamy. You're my brother. I should have loved you and trusted you'd come back to me, not made you feel more alone."

"I forgive you." He says, but he tries to weight the words to show he's not only saying it on reflex. "I betrayed you. It made sense that you were angry and upset. And – I guess I've learnt first hand from living with Clarke how shocking and frightening that was for you guys. So I'm sorry for my part, too."

"I forgive you." She passes the words back to him in turn, firm and with conviction.

Another beat of quiet. Bellamy's still taking stock, somewhat shocked that conversation just happened. He and his sister have always had a complicated relationship. He's counting this as progress, that much is certain.

"What can I do to help?" Octavia asks softly.

"We don't know yet. I'm seeing what I can figure out from the inside. Clarke meets with Indra and Cadogan a lot about the alliance. I guess we're just... biding our time. Hoping for the best. Hoping to come up with something." He admits.

"Sounds like a plan." She says brightly. "Honestly, it's a better plan than us being on different sides and you wanting to fight a war and become the light."

He laughs, a little hysterical. "You can say that again."

"Levitt would help you, if there's anything he can do. He's already helped me over his own people before now. If you want company as an inside man reach out to him."

Bellamy nods. "I was wondering that. I hear he's a guy who values love." He dares to tease.

Octavia grins. Another silence. He wonders if it will always be like this between them, now. Whether the conversation will lurch along, effortful but worth it. Or whether maybe they'll learn to chat again as the fog clears further.

"You want to stay for a bit?" Octavia asks suddenly. "I can fix us a snack and tell you some stories about Hope on Skyring?"

"I just ate breakfast." Bellamy says, defensive, even though he knows this offer of hospitality is not really about food.

Octavia's face falls. He tries again.

"I'd like to hear more about Skyring." He offers. "I guess – maybe it would do both of us good to share our stories with each other. We've missed out on a lot of time together since we left the Ark."

"Maybe the universe is trying to balance it out. We did spend those years on the Ark living in each other's pockets." She jokes.

He laughs a little, because he knows he's supposed to. "Was Hope a cute kid?"

That's it. That's the magic question, it seems. That's all it takes for Octavia to rattle on nostalgically for a good half an hour.

He really enjoys it. Partly because he's missed his sister, partly because funny stories about sweet kids are intrinsically entertaining. But largely because he knows Octavia's world revolves around Hope, now – in much the same way his used to revolve around her – and it's pretty awesome to see his baby sister all grown up.

He's riding high on a wave of optimism, when he leaves Octavia's place. Life isn't perfect today – far from it. But he can see good things in the future, bright light on the horizon. He's making a start on healing the most important relationships in his life, and along the way he thinks he might be starting to figure out the importance of healing himself.

So that's why he gathers his courage and goes to see Jackson.

…...

Bellamy's had a good week – and that's a bit of a noteworthy development, given his life story.

He's been to see Jackson twice. Both times he found it difficult to talk, didn't get a whole lot done. But apparently that's normal, and he should be proud of himself for sticking at it.

By which he means _Clarke_ is proud of him for sticking at it, and that makes him feel warm inside.

There have been other good news stories, too. He's spoken to Doucette again, had another one of those carefully casual conversations about nothing which happened to include a suggestion that peace is the most important aspect of transcendence. And Doucette didn't seem to take exception to that so, once again, Bellamy thinks they're making some progress. At this rate, they might be able to work towards a more moderate definition of what it is to be a Disciple, he hopes.

The best things about this surprisingly good week? Clarke and Madi, of course. Madi seems to have totally forgotten she ever found him _disappointing_ and instead started grilling him for stories of the time he spent with Clarke and the hundred back on Earth.

And Clarke herself? She's simply wonderful.

He doesn't know how else to describe the strength and good-humour with which she has stood by him through this, the conviction with which she has praised him for persevering with his sessions with Jackson. He can't believe how far they have come from that hateful conversation on Bardo. When they were first presented with this marriage, he knows neither of them was grateful to be forced into the arrangement. But now he thinks it's incredibly lucky that they found themselves with the time and space to process their feelings and work on forgiving each other.

He finds it interesting, too, to compare Clarke's reaction with Octavia's since he had that proper chat with her earlier in the week. His sometimes challenging little sister has exchanged apologies and forgiveness with him now – but she didn't do that until after he'd turned away from transcendence. And compared with that, he cannot help but feel even more grateful to Clarke for having his back even before he was ready to work with her once more. It really speaks to the depths of her care and patience and compassion, he thinks.

In short, it makes him even more tempted to love her again.

He's not there yet. He's still getting his head clear, letting his heart warm up to human contact again. And he thinks he's going to have to do some work on forgiving himself for turning against his friends and family before he allows himself to love anyone, really. He's still struggling with thoughts about the implicit selfishness of love.

But Clarke's love really does seem a more selfless thing.

"Bellamy?"

He jumps a little in his seat. He honestly didn't hear Clarke walk into the living room until she spoke, then. His concentration is still not what it used to be.

"Hey. Sorry. Yeah." He gabbles, less than coherent.

She doesn't say anything, and he's glad of it. She simply sinks onto the couch at his side and tucks a hand beneath his arm, sort of half-hugging his bicep into her embrace. It's comfortable – and comforting – so he relaxes a little and leans into her in turn.

"How was Indra?" He asks. That's where she's just been.

"She's well, more or less." Clarke says, tone level. "It's the waiting, isn't it? You know Indra, she's brave as anything. But I think even she is feeling the tension of sitting here waiting for Cadogan to play his next move."

"I wish we had some way to take the challenge to him. Some _peaceful_ way." Bellamy offers.

"I know what you mean. I really just want him to go back into cryo – he's aging quickly compared to us."

"Yeah. They all are. Doucette was saying this has been four years for them, now."

"But he won't hear of it. He's desperate to stay awake and have his last war. He looks more fanatical than ever." Clarke shrugs, turns it into something of a snuggle deeper into this unusual hug.

Screw it. He gives up on the odd arm-cuddle, tugs his arm from her embrace to wrap it around her shoulders instead. He wants a _proper_ hug from his wife, thank you very much. None of this half-hearted crap.

"Maybe it's good that he's awake and – and looking a little crazy. Maybe he'll push too hard and make a mistake we can make something out of." Bellamy suggests. After all, he and Clarke both know better than anyone how much pressure can twist human behaviour.

"Maybe." Clarke agrees in words, and yet he cannot help but feel that she sounds distinctly unconvinced in the tone of her voice.

"We'll figure it out." He tells her bracingly. That's his role, isn't it? To show her there's still hope? To remind her to keep breathing? "You want to take some drawing time?"

"Maybe in a minute. There's something I wanted to talk to you about first."

"This sounds serious." He tries to tease, but it comes out sounding half-frantic, he fears.

"It is – but in a good way, I promise. I've been thinking we should invite Murphy and Emori over for supper."

He frowns. He can see that this is in fact serious – even a friendly invitation comes with risks when they're trying to design a bloodless coup beneath the radar.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" He asks. "We'd have to hide the truth about – about _me_. And last thing I checked Murphy was ready to help Josephine. You sure you're up for this?"

"I think it's worth it." She says, because of course she does. She's Clarke Griffin. She's probably been analysing the pros and cons of this all week, he thinks affectionately.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean – it'll be really good for you." She says softly. "We've agreed one of the reasons you were struggling is that you were so isolated on Etherea but then we've done hardly anything to get you socialising more. I'm sorry, we should have done something like this sooner. But this kind of thing could be great for you. Emori was decent to you all along, right? And Murphy loves you even if he's an ass sometimes. They're close with Madi since we went to Bardo, too. I think this is the place to start."

He hesitates, considers her explanation for a moment. She used the word _we_ an awful lot there, and he thinks that's interesting. Last he checked, it was _him_ she was actually talking about.

He quite likes the idea that she considers them a package deal, these days.

Maybe that's what makes him buy into it. He can see her point – some more social interaction would probably do him good, but honestly it sounds exhausting and frightening. There's a reason he hasn't adopted the habit of wandering round the village chatting with acquaintances, or stopping by the bar to have a drink with Miller. But if Clarke is showing she will be by his side, he's willing to give her idea a try.

This really does put those years she spent with Madi during Praimfaya in perspective, doesn't it? Sure, she was physically safer than he was on Etherea. But he's got a newfound sympathy for how hard it must have been to have her old friends walk straight back into her life again.

"Let's try it." He says quietly.

"We don't have to if you're not ready." She rushes to assure him.

"I want to. I trust your judgement." He tells her honestly. "And I figure it will give Madi something to get excited about if nothing else."

She laughs lightly. He squeezes her a little tighter, feels her wrap an arm snug around his waist.

It's good to remember what happiness feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. Can't a guy just desperately hug his wife for no reason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it as ever. Happy reading!

Clarke knows it is ridiculous to feel nervous about dinner. Dinner is a meal, and today it's a social occasion, too. Neither meals nor social occasions are worth getting anxious about – not compared to some of the truly dangerous situations she has known.

But she's nervous all the same. In her defence, this is a pretty nerve-wracking dinner. Murphy and Emori are coming over, and Clarke knows that she and her family need to keep quiet about Bellamy's change of priorities. But that's not why Clarke is so wound up, not really. She trusts Madi and Bellamy, and she's starting to trust herself. She knows no one will let slip the news.

She's mostly worried about how well Bellamy will cope.

That's perhaps silly. He's a grown man. But he's not tried to socialise with friends in quite some time, and he's been through a lot. She can see him growing more and more tense, the closer the clock ticks to the expected arrival of their guests. And that has her getting more anxious in turn.

She's in the kitchen, now, putting the finishing touches to their meal. Nothing elaborate – just some bread and soup. Even now, Clarke cannot bear to waste food. But she knows that Murphy and Emori are coming more for the company, so it hardly seems to matter.

Clarke isn't surprised to hear footsteps she recognises as Bellamy. He's been trying not to let her out of his sight all day. But she is surprised to find herself engulfed in a hug from behind while she stirs the pot. She thinks of hugs from behind as an inherently romantic thing, for the most part. Sure, he's got his arms unobjectionably around her stomach rather than touching anything he shouldn't be, but it feels like more than a simple friendly embrace all the same.

She tries to spin round in his arms, ends up doing a sort of stiff shuffle.

"What's all this about?" She murmurs, when she's got her head tucked into his shoulder.

"Can't a guy just desperately hug his wife for no reason?" He jokes, strained.

She doesn't laugh. She normally does, when he tries to distract her with a joke like that. But today she wants to know what's really going on. She squeezes him a little tighter and waits for him to tell her the truth.

"I don't know how to act." He admits slowly. "If we're hugging all the time and it looks like I'm learning how to laugh again, won't they figure out that I'm not with Cadogan any more? But I don't know if I can act like a devoted Disciple now. I don't _want_ to act like I did back on Bardo. That hurt people I care about."

She pulls back from the hug, leaves her hands lingering on his arms while she looks him right in the eyes. "You've got this, Bellamy. You've saved so many lives before now by pretending to be something you're not. Whatever you think is the right way to take this, I'm with you. I trust your judgement on this. Time for _you_ to learn to trust your judgement, too."

He nods, slowly. "I guess I figure the answer is not to say too much. Or not too much... _personal_. Keep the conversation on Madi's schoolwork and the food and what I've done to tidy up round here and make it look more like home."

"Yeah. That sounds perfect."

"And I guess we should probably try not to hug all the time." He mutters.

Clarke considers her words for a moment. She knows he's not sulking because he likes cuddles, that it's far more complicated than that. Hugging has become something of a coping mechanism for both of them, a way of anchoring themselves in the present moment as well as some reassurance that the people they care about are safe.

Although to be fair, she thinks they do both like cuddles, too.

"I'm not going anywhere." She tells him firmly. "I'll still be here when they're gone, and so will Madi, and you'll still be safe. If you need some kind of... point of contact while they're here, maybe we can try a smile? Or touching feet under the table?"

He nods at once. "Yeah. I'll be OK. This is only one evening. I managed three months on Etherea." He says bracingly.

Clarke's not sure that's a great sign, honestly. He _barely_ managed three months on Etherea, came back physically sick and deeply mentally unwell. She thinks it's less than encouraging that he's comparing dinner with old friends to that experience.

"What about you?" He asks.

She frowns at him, caught tangled in thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"How are you feeling about tonight?"

She lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Oh, you know. Worried sick about you. Worried they might see through us. And the soup isn't -"

The doorbell rings.

There's a beat of silence. And then Bellamy claps a hand to her shoulder, laughing loudly.

"Right on cue. We can't catch a break, can we? We've got this, Clarke. It's only dinner."

With that, they set out towards the front door together. Madi meets them out in the hallway, breathless from having apparently run there from her room. Clarke opens the door to find their guests smiling tentatively on the doorstep.

And then the hugs begin.

This is one of the reasons why Murphy and Emori were good guests to choose, Clarke thinks. Even when Bellamy was at his most distant, Emori insisted on treating him as a friend as best as she was able and greeting him with a hug. So now there is nothing awkward at all as Emori hugs everyone, then Murphy follows her lead and does the same.

Clarke gets a little swept away by the novelty and excitement of having guests and finds herself relaxing into the flow of the evening. Madi leads their visitors into the living room, chattering about school and soccer as she goes. When it's time to eat, Bellamy volunteers to dish up the food, and Clarke lets him go because she can see he needs a moment of quiet. It all works rather seamlessly, actually, conversation and movement running smoothly.

Until they sit down at the table.

All at once, a more formal atmosphere descends. In the living room, when they sat clustered together, it was easy to have a couple of different conversations happening at once, or someone quietly joining in no conversation at all. But at a dinner table of five, it seems that one group conversation is expected. Or at least, that's the indication Clarke is getting from the way that everyone sits, expectant, staring at her.

Why does she always have to be the leader round here?

"The soup is delicious." Emori offers. Good old Emori.

"It's Indra's recipe." Clarke contributes.

"Still takes skill to make it. John's the cook out of the two of us." Emori says.

"Clarke made this." Bellamy pipes up. "I didn't mean to take the credit by serving."

"You're fine." Clarke reassures him at once. "I think I've been through too much trouble to worry about who takes the credit for cooking."

"Do you think I could learn to make cookies?" Madi asks thoughtfully.

"I don't see why not. I'll see if I can trade for the ingredients." Clarke offers, smiling.

"That sounds like a fun family activity." Murphy suggests, eyes narrowed.

Clarke feels her breath catch in her throat. Has he seen through them? How could he? She and Bellamy have barely spoken directly to each other all evening.

"Bellamy will probably go visit Doucette instead." Madi says, sharp, in an admirable imitation of the way she used to speak about him.

The moment passes. Clarke sighs in relief. She looks up to see Bellamy smiling determinedly at her across the table, nudges his toes gently with her own.

Clarke gathers her thoughts and presses on. "I'm surprised you want to learn how to bake, Madi. I thought soccer was your passion at the moment."

"And drawing." Madi insists firmly. "But I can have lots of passions."

"Quite right, Madi." Emori agrees. "Make the most of it now you live a more peaceful life."

Clarke frowns. Is this peaceful? It doesn't feel peaceful, with the threat of Cadogan looming over them. But just as she's about to start fretting about that, she feels Bellamy touch his toes to hers again.

And then, all at once, the ruse falls apart.

"What are you not telling us?" Murphy asks, totally casual, as if the question is of no consequence at all.

"What do you mean?" Clarke asks, carefully light, taking another chunk of bread for something to do. Best to look calm and confident, she thinks.

"I mean, what's going on here? Bellamy _is_ acting, right? I thought he was really with them at first but – but you two can't stop _smiling_ at each other. And I'm sick of you kicking me in the leg when you're trying to play footsie, man."

There's a beat of silence. And then, of all things, it is broken by Bellamy's laughter.

"Great. There goes our plan, Clarke. I'm not going to be much use as an inside man if I can't even keep the act up for one evening." He shrugs ruefully.

"Your acting is fine." Emori says, frowning, looking between the two of them. "It's just that we know you too well. You almost had me – I think it was kicking John that gave it away."

"Message received. Keep my legs to myself when I'm trying to fool Cadogan." Bellamy jokes, tense.

Another silence. Clarke tries to gather her wits.

"You mustn't tell anyone. I mean it, Murphy. This has to stay top secret. We need this to work."

Murphy nods. "I deserved that. But I'm not going to let you down again. Didn't I protect Madi while you were gone?"

Clarke nods. "Yeah. Thanks for that. You're a good guy, John Murphy." She smiles tentatively. She's almost starting to believe this might turn out OK.

"Are any of us good guys? I'm trying to do better." He mutters, shrugging awkwardly down at his soup.

"You're all good guys." Madi pipes up.

Clarke turns to look at her, rather surprised. She's used to her daughter being a confident and talkative sort, but not to her making value judgements about people's ethics at the dinner table.

"You _are_." Madi insists. "If there's one thing I've learnt since Clarke found me, it's that you're all good guys. Just you're sometimes in awful situations. But I know you guys can figure out this trouble with Bardo. You can't go wrong when you've got my awesome stepdad leading the way."

"So I'm _awesome_ now?" Bellamy asks, eyes bright. "What happened to _disappointing_?"

Madi looks a little chastened as she peers down at her supper. "I realised I was wrong. I realised it was complicated."

"I'm teasing, Madi. Sorry. I – _thank you_." He says, firm.

Clarke's not sure whether the no hugging rule still stands, now. Does it need to, if Murphy and Emori know the truth? Or is it a little weird to do lots of hugging at the dinner table all the same?

She finds a compromise. She reaches out to pat her daughter on the arm. And, abandoning all attempt at subtlety, she stretches her legs forward to tangle them closely with Bellamy's under the table.

…...

Bellamy seems to remember he used to look forward to seeing Doucette. Back when things were still so difficult with Clarke, a friendly hug with the man who saved him on Etherea seemed like the highlight of his life. But these days, meeting Doucette has become kind of nerve-wracking. Bellamy has been trying to gradually introduce some more moderate ideas to their conversations. He figures that if he can work towards a point where the First Disciple prioritises happiness over transcendence, as he does, there need not be a coup at all.

Maybe that's a naive dream. But he's going to keep dreaming it all the same until some better idea presents itself.

He's walking with Clarke, this morning, as he goes to meet the Bardo delegation. She has yet another meeting with Indra and Cadogan, and he knows she's growing tired of them. Cadogan looks truly old and unhinged, these days – yet somehow more fiercely fanatical than ever.

Bellamy can't believe he was ever so devoted to the guy. It makes him ashamed to think of it, now.

"I think we should make plans for this evening." Clarke says as they walk.

"What do you mean? Like inviting people over?" He asks, suddenly fretting. Seeing Murphy and Emori was good, but he honestly doesn't have the emotional energy to manage that again tonight after a long morning with the Bardo delegation.

"No. No, not that. I mean nice plans just for us. Something to look forward to while we're stressed out about these meetings."

He nods, catching on. "I'd say drawing with you and Madi, but we do that almost every night."

"We can still plan that." Clarke says firmly. "I just – I need something good to hold onto this morning."

"Then let's promise ourselves some drawing time tonight. Maybe we get those ingredients for Madi to make cookies?"

"That's a great idea. Cookies and sketching." She agrees, her shoulders already softening in relief.

He grins across at her. But they're arriving now, so he forces himself to drop the conversation and the smile. Or at least, he tries. He has a feeling some trace of happiness lingers on his face all the same.

"I'll see you later." He tells her, as neutral as he can manage.

"Yeah. Take care." She gives Doucette a small wave, then sets off towards where Indra and Cadogan stand waiting.

Bellamy tries not to stare as she goes. He tries to focus, instead, on hugging his friend and choosing a topic of conversation for today. He's had a few ideas – mentioning Jordan's idea of a final test, perhaps, or just talking about peace. But he hasn't settled on anything yet.

"Clarke's looking well." Doucette says as he pulls back from the hug.

"Yeah." Bellamy agrees, brief, not sure how much to say.

"Is married life everything you dreamed it would be?" Doucette asks, evidently trying for a joke.

Bellamy swallows hard. He's not sure how to answer that. The honest answer is that it is so much more than he dreamed it would be, back on that snowy day when they said their vows. And yet it is less, too, than he dreamed of back on Earth. He used to dream of the whole package, then – romance, lovemaking, children, and plenty of casual kisses snatched in the kitchen.

He needs to answer. He needs to say something. He needs to -

"Sorry." Doucette mutters. "Stupid question. I was trying to have a laugh but – I'm not good at this. Haven't really had a friend like you before."

Bellamy smiles warmly at him. "You're forgiven. But – yeah. It's a tough one."

"I can't imagine what it's like, to have someone special like that." Doucette muses. But for the first time in their acquaintance, Bellamy thinks he sounds more _wistful_ than only thoughtful.

As if maybe, he wishes he did have love in his life.

"I can't imagine not having her." Bellamy admits, in a moment of honesty he will probably regret later.

Doucette doesn't call him out on it. He doesn't point out that Bellamy is wearing a Disciple's robe, and that his faith comes with certain expectations about surrendering personal relationships in the name of transcendence. It is obvious, surely, that Bellamy will not have Clarke if he transcends? And yet neither of them says a word about his false step.

Instead, it turns out, Doucette has something very different to discuss.

"I need to talk to you about something important." He mutters, voice lowered.

"OK. Here? Or -?"

Doucette looks furtively around. They appear to be all alone, but there's still a worried look in his eyes.

"Come back to the palace." Bellamy suggests.

Doucette nods. Bellamy finds himself walking back the way he just came with Clarke. But this is a much less cheerful journey, with less chatter along the way. Bellamy tries once or twice to introduce a neutral topic – that soup recipe Clarke made the other day, or the weather, or the state of the path – but it seems they are both too distracted by anticipation of Doucette's big news to manage much conversation.

Bellamy wonders what's coming. Is Doucette about to reveal that they have failed? That Bellamy is under suspicion, and that Cadogan knows what they are up to?

They arrive at the home Bellamy shares with his family, lock the door securely behind them. Bellamy invites Doucette into the living room and shows him to a chair.

And then he sits back and waits with baited breath.

"It's Madi." Doucette begins, frowning tightly. "My Shepherd believes she knows information that could help us start the last war. You guessed that already? From that time he sent the Disciples?"

Bellamy nods, urgent.

"It's getting more complicated. Clarke made him sign that addendum. But he's determined to get Madi all the same. But most of his level twelves are against it – they think the treaty is important, or so they say. Honestly I wonder if maybe we're losing our taste for war now we've got some experience of what it's actually like."

"So he wants to seize her but no one will work with him?"

"Not everyone will work with him." Doucette corrects him firmly. "Some people will. He'll probably manage to get a team together sooner or later."

"Thanks for telling me." Bellamy says heavily. "We've got her well-guarded but we'll increase security even more."

Doucette nods. "I'll keep an eye on things in Bardo. I'll let you know if there's more news."

"Thanks."

"Any time. I – I can't let them do that to a kid. My faith is important to me. But it always felt _abstract_ before, you know? The reality of hurting a twelve-year-old is very different."

Bellamy nods. He can certainly relate to that. His faith was certainly much stronger before he was confronted with the day-to-day reality of how it hurt those around him.

"And – I can't let them do that to my best friend's daughter." Doucette admits, quieter.

Bellamy gasps a little. He didn't see that coming. What they've discussed so far is not so very far outside the bounds of faith, he thinks. Making an exception to avoid hurting children is a relatively small bending of the letter of the Shepherd's law.

But protecting her out of personal affection? That's a very different situation indeed.

"Thanks. It means a lot to me. And I know Clarke and Madi will be grateful too." He swallows thickly. "I still wouldn't call her my daughter, though."

"You wouldn't? Even though you're married to her mother and you've admitted she's special to you?"

He frowns. "Yeah. I guess because it's complicated. She used to want me to be her father figure but then I disappointed her. We're still figuring out where that leaves us."

Doucette nods. "I get that. Your family is your business. But I've got your back as best as I can."

 _Your family is your business_. That doesn't sound very faithful, either. Should he push it? Should he ask some difficult, dangerous question about where Doucette's heart really lies right now? Should he -?

"I should be going." Doucette mutters, getting to his feet. "My Shepherd will get suspicious if I'm gone too long, and then I won't be able to help you protect Madi at all."

Bellamy nods at once, stands briskly. The moment is broken, and he has to admit defeat.

"Sure. I'll walk back with you."

It's remarkable, he thinks, that he found such a good friend amongst people who do not believe in friendship.

…...

Clarke doesn't know the first thing about making cookies. And she hates being out of her depth, most of the time. She hates feeling clueless when it comes to political matters or the safety of people she cares about.

But it turns out there is something utterly liberating about being clueless on this occasion.

No one is expecting her to know how to make cookies. There is no pressure at all. She can fail as thoroughly as she likes and no one will _care._ Sure, she's hoping it will turn out OK, because she hates wasting food and because Madi likes cookies. But if it does all go horribly wrong, and the evening ends with flour behind their ears and nothing in their stomachs, it just doesn't matter.

Maybe that's why she feels able to throw herself into their family baking evening so wholeheartedly, stirring the mixture enthusiastically, giving her utter concentration to weighing out the ingredients according to the recipe Blythe Ann has written out for them.

"I thought Madi was making the cookies." Bellamy jokes lightly, about fifteen minutes in, when Clarke is chopping nuts into perfectly sized pieces.

"It seems like we're both making them." Madi offers affectionately. Clarke can see her daughter rolling her eyes at her, but as pre-teen moments of attitude go, it's certainly more loving than mocking.

"Is there something I can do other than just standing here and watching?" Bellamy asks now.

"Sure. You can find the baking trays." Madi instructs him.

He gives a little mock-salute and starts digging around in the cupboards. He drops a pair of pans on the floor with a loud clang, and Clarke finds herself laughing. She cannot believe her good luck, that they have come to this. Sure, it's not exactly romance and lovemaking and sweet little freckle-face babies with dark, curling hair. But it turns out that living with her daughter and her best friend is pretty damn fun. They have a laugh together, as well as taking care of each other.

If this is as good as life gets, it's good enough. That's what she decides. After all these years fighting, she's _tired_. If they can only see off Cadogan she'll happily take a quiet life like this when they're done.

No. That's a silly thought. Bellamy won't still be here when they're done, will he? He will have no reason to maintain this marriage when Cadogan is gone.

Maybe he could pop over to make cookies with them sometimes all the same. It would be a shame to have another parental figure ripped out of Madi's life when she's only just getting used to relying on him, Clarke thinks.

There's that, and there's the fact she also selfishly _wants_ Bellamy to still feature prominently in their lives.

She's caught by surprise when a baking tray is deposited in front of her, a warm hand resting on the small of her back. Bellamy really does seem to have abandoned the concept of personal space, since he turned away from Cadogan. She's pretty certain he could have put that baking tray _literally anywhere else_ and not had to reach around her like that.

Not that she's complaining, of course.

She leans back into him, just a little, smiles up at him. Is it normal for best friends to be this tactile? She used to hug Wells a lot, as a kid, and Bellamy reasonably often on Earth. But she's never known anything quite like this before.

The moment breaks. Madi bustles over to them, takes Clarke's chopping board, stirs the cookie dough a little more then starts dolloping it onto the trays.

And yet somehow, even as they step back to allow the child room to work, Clarke notes that Bellamy's hand still seems to be resting on her back.

"We're supposed to chill them for an hour before we bake them." Madi mutters, audibly disappointed.

"Then let's go draw while we wait." Clarke suggests.

Nods all round. The cookies go into the fridge, more or less, trays stacked at jaunty angles. Clarke leads the way out of the kitchen, and misses Bellamy's touch against her spine.

The cookies don't get chilled for an hour, in the end. They get chilled for maybe forty minutes, then baked, then mostly eaten piping hot.

It's a good evening, Clarke thinks. Definitely the best evening she has had since the world ended.

…...

Bellamy is getting much better at visiting Octavia. Tonight's visit went rather well, he thinks, as he walks back home. He took the last of the cookies he made with his wife and stepdaughter the other day, had a good laugh with his sister about the fun of baking them. He even felt comfortable enough while he was there to take his robe off and spend the evening in his shirt and trousers, which made him feel rather more human.

He really can't wait to get rid of this unwieldy thing.

He wonders when visits to his sister will stop feeling like effort. When they will stop carefully talking about themselves and their stories and their relationship, and instead just start casually _talking_. Chatting away about nothing, like they used to do when she was a child.

It's OK, he reminds himself. He's doing fine. He should feel good about himself for all the small things, the little steps, the tiny signs of progress. That's what Jackson wants him to work on this week.

He means to go straight to bed when he gets home. He stayed with his sister longer than he really expected to. It's now way past Madi's bed time, and he and Clarke usually turn in for the night not long after that. So it is that he just intends to stop by the kitchen for a glass of water and then head straight to sleep.

But as he's heading for the kitchen, he notices the living room light still on. He changes direction, walks in there instead. And what he sees has his heart leaping half out of his chest.

Clarke's there. Clarke waited up for him. Clarke's slumped on the couch, fast asleep, her sketchbook on her knees and his drawing things laid out next to her.

He swallows down tears – tears of happiness and regret all at once. He's feeling so warm and glad at the fact that she wanted to sit up for him, yet deeply sorry that he missed out on this time with her. Was she worried about him? Did she get anxious when he stayed out longer than expected? Did she feel hurt or rejected or stood up that he didn't show up to this plan he didn't even know she had made?

He'll make it up to her, he decides. First thing in the morning he'll tell her how sorry he was to miss her and ask if she wants to hang out, just the two of them, the next night instead.

He hopes she wasn't too worried. He thinks she must not have been. If there's one thing he's learnt about Clarke, since marrying her, it's that she doesn't sleep well when she's anxious. So he thinks that the fact she managed to fall asleep by accident on the couch is a very good sign, both about her mood tonight and her mood more generally.

He acts on pure instinct, when he wanders over there, and sets aside the sketchbook, and gathers Clarke into his arms. That's the obvious thing to do, when he finds his wife asleep on the couch, isn't it? A good husband would carry her straight to bed.

It's more of a struggle to lift her than it would have been before Etherea. He's not as strong as he used to be. Maybe he ought to work out a little more now he's eating well once more. If ever he gets the courage to love Clarke again, he doesn't want her to find him weedy and unattractive. He thinks he could deal with her choosing not to be with him because he's hurt and betrayed her too many times. That would be perfectly fair and he'd do his best to understand it, as she has understood him of late. But he'll be gutted if they get themselves in the right place to make it work only for her to look at him with pity or disgust or even disappointment in her eyes.

All the same, he grits his teeth and perseveres with his self-appointed task. Clarke helps him out, even as she stays more asleep than awake. She tangles herself around him, clinging to him with all her limbs at once, it feels like. And she snuggles her face a little into his robe, lets out a sleepy sigh.

"I've got you." He murmurs, trying to resist the urge to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

Wow. That catches him by surprise. It's a long time since he thought about kissing – the second week on Etherea, he seems to remember. That was when he realised he was most likely destined never to kiss Clarke, he recalls.

Huh. Maybe, one of these days, he might dare to change his mind on that.

The stairs are tough. But he's not about to quit now. He presses on, gets through the bedroom door. Clarke has stopped fidgeting and sighing, now, and he supposes she's fallen absolutely asleep again.

He sets her gently down on the bed. Or rather – he tries to. She wants to protest, it seems, keeping her arms fastened around his neck and her legs kicking uselessly towards him. It's the strangest kind of sweet torture.

"Get some sleep, wife." He murmurs affectionately.

She pouts a little, but lets go of him. She stretches back on the bed. And before he's had chance to think too hard about what he's doing, he finds that he is unlacing her boots for her, tugging her socks gently from her feet.

He leaves it at that, though. He's pretty certain he shouldn't try to help her change into nightclothes. He's already surprised himself tonight by noticing that he can most definitely still feel attraction and arousal, and he doesn't want to push his luck or make either of them uncomfortable.

"I'm just going to change. I'll be right back." He tells her.

She nods sleepily, starts tugging at her own belt. That's his cue to leave, he figures. No point hanging around to make life more difficult than it needs to be.

He heads to the bathroom, gets through his evening routine quickly. He's quite keen to get back to bed and find out whether Clarke is still in a snuggly mood, if he's being honest. It's strange how, to him, cuddling her around the house or in bed is different from the intimacy of carrying her to bed or wanting to kiss her. The first feels comforting, familiar, safe.

The second feels dangerous, and thrilling, and yet he wants it all the same.

No. He needs to keep himself in line. They should figure out how to protect Madi and stop Cadogan first, and he can worry about whether there's any hope for shaping this into a real, romantic marriage later.

He's back at the bedroom, now. He knocks at the door, just in case Clarke is still changing. Silence. He enters, closes the door softly behind him.

Clarke hasn't entirely succeeded at changing, he notes. She's taken off her trousers, dropped her bra haphazardly over the side of the bed. She seems to have decided her shirt and panties will do as pyjamas for tonight.

He swallows. This has been an interesting ten minutes.

He crosses to the bed, pulls the covers up over Clarke before settling into the mattress himself.

"Sorry I fell asleep." Clarke mumbles, not her most coherent.

"It's OK. We can hang out tomorrow." He promises, reaching a carefully platonic arm around her waist and leaning over her a little while they chat.

"Wanted to ask you how your sister was. Wanted to be there in case -" She yawns. "In case it made you sad."

He smiles softly. She's frankly adorable when she's sleepy, it turns out.

"It was great. But I'm sorry I made you wait up. Get some sleep and I'll tell you all about it in the morning." He murmurs, allowing himself the small treat of stroking her hair back out of her face.

She nods, turns it into a snuggle against his hand. And then she's still, her breath lengthening to soft snores almost before Bellamy's head has hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. He doesn't want to be her only choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. Also a bit intense at points. Also... Some Significant Developments. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: depression, discussion of suicidal ideation.

Bellamy starts to feel better about himself, as the days pass by. It's a slow process, but he's definitely getting there. His sessions with Jackson still tend to be awkward and somewhat painful, but at least now he really does feel like it's the good, cathartic kind of pain. Like the sharp, reassuring sting of cleaning a ragged wound.

He's starting to feel a little physically fitter, too. That's something he's been working on since the night he was so conscious of feeling weak when he carried Clarke to bed. He's been going on ever longer walks around the village, and he thinks he might try jogging, soon. And when Clarke is out of the house he sometimes does an awkward little workout in one of the spare rooms. He thinks that, if he gets really brave, he might even attempt to keep fit with a friend, one of these days. Perhaps he could ask Echo to train with him as a sort of peace gesture. Maybe Miller would like to try one of the workouts they used to do together as guards.

He's feeling a bit better in himself, but he has to admit that the bloodless coup is still not going to plan – or rather, they simply do not have a plan. Nothing beyond playing the long game, waiting and watching and learning what they can. And today, in just a few minutes' time, Bellamy is due to meet Levitt to discuss their options with him.

"Going on another one of your walks?" Clarke's voice echoing down the hallway stops him on the point of heading out the door.

"Not quite. Going to meet Levitt." He says.

She nods. "Good luck. Let me know if he says anything useful."

"Will do. I'm not sure how helpful I'm expecting this first conversation to be. I figure I just need to test the waters."

"Yeah. Of course. Whatever you think – I trust your judgement." She says pointedly, a coded reminder to him to trust himself, too. He can tell that, because their communication is pretty strong at the moment, he likes to think.

"Thanks, Clarke." He offers, heartfelt. He's still struggling under the weight of his gratitude to her, honestly. The more the clouds of Etherea clear, the more he feels awful for everything he has put her through, everything she has done to take care of him. Jackson keeps telling him it's perfectly normal that he felt like he couldn't think straight - apparently that's a common symptom of depression. But he still hasn't forgiven himself for it all the same.

She smiles slightly, chasing away his slight moment of melancholy. "Any time. I won't keep you. I didn't realise you were heading to see Levitt – I was just here to invite myself on your walk." She laughs, a little stiffly.

He does her the favour of laughing along with her. He never realised she might be interested in coming on these very small expeditions with him. He certainly never noticed that she was hurt not to be invited – but he knows her well enough to read in her tone that this is the implication of her awkward comment just now.

"Maybe we can take a walk when I get back." He offers brightly.

"Yeah, sure. If you want. I don't want to intrude." She says, audibly nervous.

He wants to laugh at that. Has she not realised he's half way in love with her again – or perhaps _fully_ in love with her, just not ready to accept it quite yet?

"You wouldn't be intruding. I'd like some company." He swallows. "I'd like _your_ company." He corrects himself, as firm as he is able.

She grins, nodding briskly. "Great. Good luck with Levitt, then."

He takes his leave of her and heads out the door.

He wonders what to do about the walk, as he makes the short journey to the stone to meet Levitt. Is Clarke expecting a walk with him to be an exciting event? She will surely be disappointed, in that case. He normally just does laps of the village until he's feeling tired. The point of the walking, after all, is to get fitter and stronger after all that time in the cave and the bout of bronchitis which followed. But if Clarke is planning to join him, he finds himself thinking he ought to make more effort.

Some pathetic, foolish part of him wants their little excursion to be something like a _date_.

He puts that out of mind when he arrives at the stone and finds Levitt already waiting for him.

"Thanks for meeting me. You're early." Bellamy says mildly.

"I guess you could say this meeting is important to me." Levitt offers carefully.

Bellamy nods. "No one came with you?"

"No one. I was careful."

"Good. Then let's begin. Can I -"

"How's Octavia?" Levitt interrupts, all at once. It's as if the words are spilling straight from his chest, Bellamy thinks. It's almost _frightening,_ how desperately eager he sounds.

"She's well."

"And are you two speaking again? I know she was devastated. Is she still – is she living alone? How's Hope? How are -"

"She's well." Bellamy repeats, quelling. "I'll give you the best report I can. But you know I can't take you to see her – that would look way too suspicious, if anyone reports it back to your Shepherd."

" _My_ Shepherd?" Levitt asks mildly. "Not _our_ Shepherd?"

"You must have some idea why I asked you here." Bellamy says calmly. That wasn't so much an accidental slip as a deliberate testing of the waters.

Levitt nods, solid if a little stiff. "I think I do. And – and when the time comes, I'll be with you. I swear it. But _please_ will you tell me how things are with Octavia?"

Bellamy relents. He knows a desperate man when he sees one. He's been there himself – following his sister onto the dropship or walking through an Azgeda army for Clarke.

He sets about describing in minute detail every aspect of his sister's recent life. There will be time enough for plots and plans later, he figures. But for now, he has found the only other Disciple in the universe who truly loves. And that's something he wants to encourage, frankly.

…...

Clarke tries not to get too overexcited about the walk. She doesn't change into more attractive clothes, or anything foolish like that. It's only a _walk_. But all the same she cannot stop thinking of the way Bellamy said he would like her company, repeating that phrase over and over and over in her mind.

She's being daft. He's her best friend, and he's remembering how to care about people. Of course he would like her company. There is no reason for her to feel so fluttery about this. They spend a huge amount of time together, anyway. This is nothing new.

Except it _feels_ new. It feels new to spend time together by choice, rather than because they are obliged to live together.

By the time Bellamy returns home, she has paced the hallways of their home so much she suspects she does not actually need any more exercise today.

"How was Levitt?" She asks. "You were gone longer than I expected."

"I was gone longer than _I_ expected." Bellamy says, laughing slightly. "He agreed to help us out right away. But then he wanted a thorough update on how my sister is getting on."

"He still cares about her?" She asks, suddenly touched.

"He's still in love with her." He corrects her, shaking his head. "O's always been like that – you remember how she was with Lincoln? I swear she could have anyone in love with her within an hour if she put her mind to it."

Clarke bites her lip. Privately, she knows which of the siblings she finds easiest to love. But she senses that mentioning that right now would be the opposite of useful.

"So he'll help us as best he can." Bellamy continues, either ignoring her silence or taking it as a cue to keep talking. "He agreed with what we'd already figured out – that the tough part will be breaking their loyalty to Bardo and showing them that humanity is better than transcendence. He says he'll see what he can do to make a start on it, try whispering to a few people and see whether anyone else might be with us."

"That's better than nothing." She says bracingly.

"Yeah. You're right." He sighs. "Listen, about taking this walk. I'd really like to hang out with you but I should go see my sister. I want to be able to tell her all about Levitt asking after her and see if I can carry some messages between them."

"We can go together." She suggests at once.

He blinks at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "You want to?"

"Yeah. Why not? I can say hi to Octavia too, and we can have our walk when we're done there. We can take the long way home or something."

"The long way home? Have you seen the size of Sanctum?" He asks, teasing.

She laughs. "We can take a walk after we're done." She reiterates, swatting him cheerfully on the arm.

"That sounds perfect." He agrees, grinning broadly.

They set out from the palace. It is not a long way to Octavia's quarters, but they manage to fit in a substantial conversation en route all the same. They chatter away about everything from the puddles underfoot to the clear blue sky overhead, with some plans for what to make for supper along the way. It's so comfortably domestic, but Clarke can still remember how awful things were between them, just a couple of months ago. She can still feel the heaviness of that experience weighing down her soul. Apparently it takes a little while to get over such things.

They arrive at Octavia's. It is Bellamy who knocks at the door, while Clarke stands close and silent and supportive by his side.

And then, to their surprise, it is Echo who opens the door.

"Hello." She greets them, apparently calm.

"Hey. Is – is my sister in?" Bellamy trips over his words just a little.

"Yeah. Hope's here too. Come on in."

Clarke is thoughtful, as they cross the threshold. She's not at all sure how well Bellamy will handle this. Three people is two more people than they were expecting, here, and he still tends to be rather uncomfortable in social situations. Not to mention one of those people is Echo, and as far as she's aware they have not spoken in person yet since Bellamy recovered from Bardo.

Who is she kidding? He would have told her, if he'd managed to take that step. He has been sharing everything about his recovery with her. So no, Bellamy and Echo have not spoken. She is sure of it.

"Bell! I wasn't expecting you. And Clarke! Come and sit down." Octavia welcomes them, genuinely delighted to see them.

This, Clarke thinks, is a promising start.

"We don't want to interrupt. I just have some news from Levitt." Bellamy says, a little stiff, but sitting down on the couch all the same.

He's also patting the space next to him and looking up at Clarke. She sits close to his side. Part of her is a little worried about how that might look to Echo, but she supposes that, in the grand scheme of things, they have probably all got better things to worry about than that. If Bellamy wants her close so he is comfortable, she is not about to deny him.

"Levitt?" Octavia prompts, evidently very interested.

"Yes."

Silence falls. Clarke looks to Bellamy, sees him glancing between Octavia and Hope with a question in his eyes.

"I already know." Hope pipes up. "At least – I think I do. No one's told me anything – please don't be angry with them. But did you really expect I wouldn't figure it out?"

Bellamy swallows loudly. "Sorry. It's not... _personal_. But we were trying to -"

"I get it. Top secret." Hope interrupts briskly. She seems to be a brave woman, Clarke thinks, from what little she knows of her. "And I get that you have a lot to deal with at the moment. But when the woman who raised me and the woman who loves me are keeping a secret, I'm going to notice."

Bellamy nods stiffly. Clarke wonders which part of this is bothering him, exactly – the danger of having someone else in on the secret? The idea that Octavia has a new family now? Or the news that Echo has moved on, as Clarke was beginning to suspect she might?

"It's OK, Bell." Octavia offers, surprisingly soft. "We're family – all of us. Your secret's safe."

"And I really didn't say anything." Echo adds firmly.

Bellamy lets out a tight laugh at that. "I know. Don't worry. I figured out that much."

Silence falls again. Clarke leans into Bellamy's side, just a little. Just enough to remind him that she's there for him, come what may. To remind him he could hold onto her, even, if he finds that he needs to.

"So I guess I should jump straight to telling you Levitt's supporting our peaceful resolution." Bellamy gets the words out.

"I knew he would." Octavia grins. "How's he doing?"

"He's physically well. But he's missing you. He said to tell you that."

"Tell him the same thing for me when you next see him?"

"Yeah. Of course I will."

The conversation flows from there, more or less. Sometimes it flows smoother than other times, Clarke notes – just as a river will sometimes get caught up on rocks along the way. But they do, essentially, manage to _talk_.

She stays fairly quiet, for the most part. Octavia and Bellamy speak more than the others. Echo joins in a good deal, Hope less often. For once in her life, though, Clarke finds that she is not obliged to take the lead. Her role today is to sit tight and support Bellamy as best as she can.

She likes to think she's been doing quite well at that, these last few weeks. In fact, she believes, they are both becoming rather skilled at supporting each other once again.

…...

Clarke hates feeling out of her depth – but set against that, life has forced her to grow used to surprises. She thinks she's getting better at coping with the unexpected once again, now that she is feeling rather calmer and more in control. She's starting to believe that she could make a fair attempt at tackling almost any challenge placed in front of her.

But then she comes home to find Bellamy crying in the kitchen, and she feels out of her depth all over again.

He's not just crying. He's _sobbing_ , loud and messy, curled up in a heap on the kitchen floor. He's literally hugging his knees as he weeps to himself.

She cannot make sense of it. He has been doing better, recently, as far as she could tell. He has been _saying_ he's doing better, and she thinks they're doing quite well at honesty. So she certainly did not expect to come back from running errands in the village to find him falling apart at the seams.

She steps into action, darts towards him instinctively. But then she thinks twice. Will he want that? If he's having some serious crisis of mental health, will a sudden hug or her unexpected presence do more damage than good?

But on the other hand, he does tend to really like a hug when he's struggling.

She clears her throat, speaks softly. "Bellamy. Hey. It's me. You're going to be OK. Whatever's happened, we can fix it."

He simply keeps sobbing.

"I'd love to come and give you a hug if that's OK?"

He nods, still curled in on himself.

She crosses the rest of the distance between them, fast, but not so fast as to startle him, she hopes. She's not sure how this hug is going to work, when he's all hunched over like this. He's hardly in any state to reach out towards her.

She makes the best of it. She kneels behind him, wraps her arms around him as well as she can.

"You're going to be OK." She murmurs, hopes her voice is soothing. "I'm right here. I've got you. We can figure this out, Bellamy."

He nods again. That's a good sign, she thinks. He's alert and aware and communicating with her, even if he's evidently distraught.

He shifts a little, presses further back against her into the hug. He's not curled on the floor now so much as sitting with his back against her front – still stooped and sobbing, but less hopeless in his body language. She can hug him better from this angle, too, sitting on the cold tiles and wrapping her arms snug around his waist.

"You're fine. Take all the time you need. I'm staying here with you as long as it takes." She promises him softly.

It takes a long time, it turns out. She honestly doesn't know how he is managing to make so many tears. It's frightening, and she doesn't mind admitting it. She is scared to find herself in the midst of this situation when she thought he was recovering, and she is desperate to know what she can do to help.

She's frightened, yet not quite _anxious_. That's something, at least. She genuinely believes in the strength of her friendship with Bellamy and their ability to fix this together. And she has him safe and physically well in her arms, so she is determined they can figure out the rest.

She doesn't know how long this will take. She's relieved at least that she does not need to save the world right this minute, and that Madi has opted to spend some time visiting Gaia after school. Clarke can focus her attention wholeheartedly on Bellamy for as long as he needs her.

She keeps holding him, and talking to him, because she doesn't know what else she can do. She feels powerless, in this moment, yet oddly proud. It's good that they're facing this together, she decides.

She thinks maybe she ought to tell him that.

"I've got you." She reminds him, leaning forward to rest her head on the back of his shoulder. "We're going to get you through this, OK? I'm so proud of us for how far we've come, Bellamy. We're going to be able to figure this out together. We take care of each other, you and me."

He snorts damply.

"I mean it. We'll get there."

"You take care of me." He says, short, between sobs. "I – I don't -"

"You _do_." She assures him, because she knows what he is not quite managing to say. "You take care of me all the time, Bellamy. But it's so natural to you I think you don't even notice half the time. You remind me to take some drawing time when you can see I'm having a bad day. You take my hand when I'm having a nightmare. And you have _always_ had this way of making me feel like I have value, like I'm a worthwhile human being, even when I just can't see it myself. So don't you dare tell me you don't take care of me." She concludes, fierce.

She hopes she sounds more like she's speaking with conviction than like she's annoyed with him, she thinks suddenly. Oh god. What if she's just made it worse? What if -

She hasn't made it worse. Bellamy is leaning right back into her arms, clasping her hand, breathing a little calmer.

"Take all the time you need." She reminds him softly. "We can sit here as long as it takes. And then we can talk about it if you want to. Or we can not talk about it. We can just have a hug or take a nap or draw together."

He nods. He's sobbing rather more softly, now, more hiccupping than heaving breaths.

"I'm sorry." He says at length. "You didn't ask for this."

She hesitates, wonders which words to use. "You're wrong. I know we didn't choose this marriage. But you have to know I would _always_ ask to be here when you need someone. So I'm asking you now to tell me as much as you're comfortable with. Or to let me know if there's some other way I can help."

He's silent a moment. She keeps resting her head against his back, turns a little so her cheek is pressed into his shoulder blade through his shirt.

"You sure about that? It's a long story." Bellamy mutters.

"I'm sure."

"And it's a really stupid story."

"Bellamy. I meant it. I'm not going anywhere. I want to share this with you."

He gaps out another sob, gives way to a self-conscious laugh. "Thanks. Thanks, Clarke. I – yeah. Thank you."

"Any time. We save each other – that's what we do."

He hums, unconvinced. To be fair, she's not so happy with her words either.

She takes a deep breath, tries again. "I mean – I _want_ to take care of you. I didn't mean to make it sound like some obligation."

Another mixed reaction. Another shaky breath, but now he's clutching at her hand more firmly than ever.

"Thanks. I think – that's exactly what I needed to hear." He takes one more shuddering breath.

She stretches up to reach a towel that hangs over the door of one of the kitchen cupboards, hands it to him to wipe his face. It's a messy business, this tangle of grief and guilt.

And then she settles right back down to hold him and wait as long as he needs her to.

"You want to hear the stupid story now?" He asks quietly.

"Sure."

He sighs. "I just didn't feel great this morning and... things got very out of hand."

She hums, encouraging, and squeezes him a little tighter. She can agree that things do seem to have got very out of hand.

"I just hated that I was having a low day. I thought I was doing better so it was kind of scary to wake up feeling off. And then I started feeling like I was letting you and Jackson down when you've both been putting so much energy into helping me."

"But that's because we _want_ to." Clarke murmurs. "Jackson is a doctor. He feels called to help people. And I – I care about you." She leaves it at that, reluctant to say anything that might make him feel any kind of pressure or obligation.

"Yeah. I'm kind of seeing that now you've spent your afternoon watching me lose it." He tries to joke, somewhat damply.

She just keeps hugging him and waits for him to feel ready to continue.

"So then I had a session with Jackson. I told him I was frustrated about... having a backwards step. And then that led us to a whole bunch of other stuff about guilt and regrets and – and here we are, pretty much."

"I get that. Healing can be tough. It's not going to work in a neat straight line." She tells him softly.

He's silent. She waits. She suspects that means there is more to the story.

At length, he heaves in a shaky breath and continues. "I saw your sketch. The one on the living room table of – of the lab on the day of the death wave. _The heart and the head._ " He makes a choked sort of noise, half sob, half swallow. "That was the last straw I guess. I just – I looked at that picture and I was _jealous_. That Bellamy and that Clarke had flames bearing down on them and were about to be separated for six years. But in your picture we look almost _happy_. And I guess I can't imagine us ever getting back to that. Things seemed so simple there, before I betrayed you all these times."

" _Twice_ , Bellamy. Twice. It's not as if you've made a habit of it." She tells him, firm.

He snorts. "I left you, too. Just a few minutes after that moment in the sketch I _left_ you. And it feels like everything has been going wrong since then. So that's when – when I _lost it_. Started thinking it would have been better if I'd just died on Etherea when I was supposed to. I tried to come in here to start on supper or do something useful to take my mind off it but I guess I didn't make it that far."

Clarke tries desperately to remember how to breathe. She's been doing so well at staying calm and confident for Bellamy's sake, but she's starting to lose it a little herself, now. She thought she had the monopoly on holding a gun to her own head, round here. But if Bellamy is saying he wishes he had died on Etherea, she's _scared_. She can't lose him. All at once her head is jumping around from fear to fear. He came to the kitchen, with the knife block just an arm's length away. Was that deliberate? Was he planning to hurt himself? Was he -?

"Clarke? I'm sorry. You doing OK?" He asks, squeezing her hand. "I'm so sorry, I know this is a lot -"

"I'm coping." She says, because that seems more honest than _I'm fine_ , and she thinks Bellamy's openness, here, merits a little transparency in return.

They sit quietly for a moment. Clarke tries to collect herself.

"Bellamy. I'm sorry, I just needed a minute. I need to ask you – are you saying you feel like trying to hurt yourself? Because if you do we can get you more help for that." She tries to sound more determined than desperate, and she's not entirely sure she succeeds.

"No. Not really. There's a difference between wanting to be dead and thinking it doesn't much matter whether I live." He says thoughtfully. "And honestly, I've mostly been feeling much better recently. I have lots to live for – working for peace and healing my relationships with you and Octavia. Today just got out of hand." He repeats. She gets the sense he's trying to convince himself as much as her.

She does her best to help him out with that. "Yes. I agree with you. That's normal, Bellamy. Recovery is complicated. Some days are worse than others and it's no one's fault. I guess maybe we need a plan for taking care of you next time a tough day hits you."

He nods, relaxes a little in her arms.

"Do you want to talk about some of the things you said just now? Or would you rather wait until you see Jackson? Can I at least tell you I'm happy you're still with me?"

He nods a little more.

She takes that for her cue to continue. "The way I see it, as long as we're still breathing, there's still hope. A very wise guy once told me that. But as long as we're still here, there's a chance for us to make things better. I think we're doing really well at the minute, Bellamy. I won't deny that things were probably simpler that day in the lab – but who cares? Things don't have to be simple to be _good_. And I know we cried less back then, but I would say we're closer now than ever." She offers. She thinks that's true. Their relationship now may be less happy in a conventional, smiley sense. But it is thriving in terms of honesty and trust and mutual support.

"Thanks. It means a lot to hear you say that. But – I don't think my heart has got the message yet." He laughs self-consciously. "I'm trying to tell myself to stop feeling guilty and it's not quite working out."

"You'll get there. It'll take time."

"Yeah." He sighs. "Thanks for this, Clarke. Really. I'm so sorry. But I guess you already noticed that, huh?"

"I did. I understand your guilt is telling you to keep apologising, but you really don't need to."

He nods. "OK. Well. I'll try to -"

He's interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and Madi calling a cheerful greeting down the hallway.

Clarke sighs, starts unwrapping her arms from around Bellamy. "I'll go distract her." She says. She can imagine Bellamy wants nothing less than to have Madi see him like this.

To her surprise, he stands up, jaw set firm. "No. Let's both go say hi to her. We don't keep secrets from Madi, remember?"

Clarke blinks, stunned. But then she finds that she is nodding, and Bellamy is striding out the kitchen door ahead of her. She makes haste to follow him, finds Madi frowning and peering up at Bellamy's red-rimmed eyes and tired face.

"What happened?" Madi asks, audibly concerned.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Clarke assures her.

"I just had a... complicated day." Bellamy opts for, in the end.

There is a beat of silence. Madi nods, frowning, processing.

And then all at once she is stepping forward to hug Bellamy tight around the waist. Clarke cannot decide whether she wants to stand back and watch the two people she loves the most have their bonding moment, or whether she feels left out of all the fun.

Bellamy makes the decision for her, in the end. He throws a smile at her over his shoulder, reaches a hand out towards her in clear invitation.

Well, then. It looks like they are to share a family hug.

Clarke joins in, embracing her daughter and her husband as well as she can. It's an undignified sort of a mess, but it's undignified and messy in a far more warm and pleasant way than seeing Bellamy weeping alone when she came home this afternoon.

"We're making cookies tonight." Madi informs them both, still hugging.

"We don't have the ingredients for cookies." Clarke points out, ever the practical one.

"Come on, Clarke. Your daughter wants cookies. You're not going to say no to her? You want me to go get some ingredients?"

Madi laughs, pulls back and ends the hug. "You see? That's why you're the best stepdad."

It's a flippant comment. She says it quickly, instinctively, as if it's simply _obvious_.

But Clarke knows that it has made Bellamy's year all the same.

…...

Bellamy has an odd evening, all in all.

He felt simply awful this afternoon. Terrible. Ashamed and worthless and helpless. And he felt even worse, somehow, for crashing just when he was so sure things were looking up.

He can't decide whether or not he feels better, now. He's really taken to heart what Clarke said to him this afternoon, and her words definitely allayed some of his fears and guilt. But his mood has not suddenly picked up since then. It's not like a switch has been flicked in his brain. It's more that he knows he _will_ feel better, tomorrow and the next day and the next, when her words have really had chance to sink in, and when he's discussed the events of the day with Jackson.

Madi's hug and heartfelt words and the family cookie baking session are like that, too. They make the light a little brighter, but the clouds of the day still linger, blocking some of it out.

In short, it is strange to have an objectively good evening at the end of such a dreadful day.

At least he doesn't feel like he's at a crisis point any more. That's good. So he supposes he does feel better, at least a little. He doesn't feel like he _deserves_ to be a pathetic heap on the kitchen floor, which is surely progress.

He excuses himself to go to bed early, when the cookies are done. He sort of feels like, seeing as today has been a write-off, the best course of action might be to get some sleep and start over again tomorrow. And he's feeling pretty drained, so getting some extra rest or some quiet reading time sounds like it might be a good plan.

He takes his time over his bedroom routine. He has a warm shower, which actually helps him to feel a little more human. He finds himself some ugly plaid pyjamas which used to belong to Russell, presumably. He doesn't feel all that odd about wearing a dead man's clothes, though, because the alternative is sleeping in one of his white Disciple T shirts and that's the last thing he wants to do tonight. Then he reads a few pages of his book, but when the words don't sink in he decides that's fine and sets it calmly aside.

Today is a bad day. These things happen. He is still recovering.

The more he tells himself that, the better he feels. Clarke was right to point it out to him so firmly this afternoon. That was his big problem today – that he felt low about feeling low. That he felt guilty for letting her and Jackson down, that he dreaded being stuck in this depression forever. But Clarke has helped him to remember that it's OK to have days like this, and that he still stands some chance of being truly happy again, one day.

He turns onto his side, snuggles into his pillow and prepares for sleep. He wonders whether it would be alright to hug Clarke's pillow for a little while. Would that be strange? Or would she understand he just wanted something comforting to hold onto?

She'd be OK with it. He knows she would. He reaches out, clasps his fingers around the soft fabric and -

The door cracks open quietly.

"Bellamy?" Clarke whispers softly.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" He asks, letting go of the pillow and turning to face her.

"Last I checked it's my bedroom too." She points out, walking into the room and removing her shoes.

"No, I mean – what are you doing here _now_?" It's still a while until Madi's usual bedtime, and he knows Clarke likes to take her time over that ritual.

"I'm coming to bed early." She says, shrugging. "Turn round, will you? I want to change."

If she'd said that to him a couple of days ago, he thinks, he would probably have passed out on the spot from sheer shock. But as it is, he's too tired today to bother much about the mixture of arousal and surprise he feels at the idea of Clarke comfortably stripping while he breathes just a few feet away. He simply turns over and leaves her to it.

"Everything OK? What about Madi?" He asks mildly.

"She's decided she wants to take herself to bed tonight like a big kid. Funny coincidence that she's decided that on a night she could see I wanted to be here with you." Clarke points out, wry and just a little amused.

Bellamy nods against his pillow. That's an interesting development, he thinks, Clarke letting go of that essentially harmless but utterly pointless ritual of watching over Madi's bed time as if terrified the girl might disappear. He thinks it's progress, of a kind. But he'd rather she wasn't giving it up just because her concern for him currently outweighs even her permanent fixation on Madi's welfare. He'd quite like her, one day, to be able to let go of such anxious routines because she _wants_ to, not just because something else is more pressing in this moment.

Whatever. Progress is progress. They're all doing their best, still breathing, still hoping.

He feels the mattress dip behind him. He's on the point of turning round and giving Clarke a goodnight hug when he feels something else, too. Her warm body, snuggling up against him. Her chest pressing into his back.

Her gentle hand slipping up his pyjama shirt and onto his stomach.

He freezes. He goes absolutely stock still, stunned, flushing hot all over. He wonders whether this is the moment he tells her he plans to love her again, just as soon as he's got out of this guilty rut. Or maybe it's time to let slip that he desperately wants to make love with her, if only he can remember how.

It turns out it's not that moment – not _either_ of those moments.

He must have frozen too suddenly, too still, too long. She's drawing her hand away, scooting back from him as if she thinks she made some horrific mistake.

Well, now. He can't have her thinking that.

He catches her hand, laces their fingers together tightly.

"Stay." He asks her simply. "I really liked it."

She sighs in relief. "Yeah?"

"It felt great." He assures her, voice a little hoarse.

He dares to let go of her fingers. She doesn't flee – rather she splays her hand over his stomach, more confidently this time. He can feel each one of her fingers pressing into his skin, wonders whether maybe he really did lose his mind on Etherea. He's experienced things plenty more sexual than this before now and not found himself anywhere near so flustered.

Then it gets better still. Then she presses a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

"That OK?" She asks.

"Yeah. Perfect."

A couple more slow pecks on the back of his neck. Her hand is still on his stomach, too. And Bellamy fishes desperately for ideas on what he ought to be doing, here. He's not trying to move things forward, as such. He's not ready for that. But he wants to do something sweet and affirming to show Clarke that he's finding this really comforting and a little too pleasant. To show her that he's grateful and relaxed and happy, and that she's welcome to nudge her toes further across this line between friendship and romance any time she likes.

He rests his hand over hers. It's not much, he supposes, but it's better than nothing. He runs a thumb over her knuckles, her fingers. It's her left hand, and all at once he's struck by a bittersweet thought.

"We don't have rings. Can we get rings when all this mess with Cadogan is through?"

He hears her breath catch in her throat. Too late, he realises his mistake. What a stupid, naive, _pathetic_ question to ask, he curses himself. Obviously they cannot get rings when all this mess with Cadogan is through. When this is over, they will not need to sustain this arranged marriage, will they? When the threat of transcendence is past, Clarke will be free to marry someone she has actually chosen.

He doesn't want to be her only choice.

"Sorry. Stupid question. I mean – if you still want us to be married. I get it if you want to go marry someone else." He rushes to fix it, fears he only makes it worse.

She's still for a moment, silent. But she's not quite _frozen_ , somehow. She's holding him tight and pressing her hand into his stomach and breathing a little more calmly.

Then she drops one more kiss to the back of his neck.

"I can't imagine marrying anyone else." She says at last. "How could I, after everything we've been through? I know this is a pretty odd marriage. But it's _ours._ And if you want to get rings, I'm with you." She swallows loudly. "If you want to stay married, _I'm with you_."

He feels a smile split his face. The way he sees it, that's _almost_ a little bit like accepting a marriage proposal – albeit the weirdest marriage proposal of all time, he suspects. He tugs her hand towards his lips and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. It feels funny, somehow, and confirms that he really isn't ready to try anything else. The texture of her soft skin against his lips shoots straight to his groin and that actually scares him slightly. He's felt out of control of his own life for months, now, and he's not ready to lose control in this way on top of all that.

And yet set against that, it does feel good. Comforting and thrilling and somehow _delicious_.

If he already felt odd this evening, he feels even odder now. He's delighted that he and Clarke settled that. Yet the low mood of the day still lingers. It's the strangest thing, he decides, to feel such happiness in the midst of such despair.

He tries to have a go at explaining himself.

"That's great, Clarke. That's – I'm so happy about that. But today has been a lot and I just need to lie here quietly if that's OK."

"It's more than OK." She tells him at once. "You're fine. Thanks for asking for what you need for a change." She says, a little teasing.

He rises to her challenge. He places her hand back on his stomach, covers it with his own. "I need this." He tells her softly.

She hums in agreement, starts stroking his skin a little with her thumb.

"How are you doing? I know it's been a big day for you as well." He asks her in turn. She may have banned him from apologising, but he can still ask how she's coping.

"I'm good, really. This is exactly what I needed, too." She says, snuggling ever closer. He's not sure whether she's referring to the embrace or the tentative kisses or the conversation about their marriage.

He suspects, in fact, that she might be talking about all three.

He starts to doze off before long. He feels comfortable here, safe and cherished and truly at home.

Just as he is on the point of falling asleep, Clarke speaks up.

"I already have a ring." She mutters, fast, as if she's been considering the words for a while. "I have my mum's. It's been in my bedside drawer since the morning after we got married."

He laughs. He can't help it. Ever since he chose love over transcendence, he's been worrying about whether he had any chance of a future with Clarke. And yet here she is telling him that she's been hoping for a future with him all along. He simply cannot think of any other interpretation for her keeping a ring secretly in her drawer.

"Then I'm sorry it took me this long to bring it up." He says lightly.

"That's OK. It's been complicated." She offers, with a nervous laugh.

He pauses a moment, considers his words. "That's great, Clarke. If you want to wear her old ring then I understand. We can just get one made for me when we figure our way out of this?"

"Yeah. It'll give us something to look forward to."

It's a funny business, he decides, as he slips towards sleep once more. This is not how he saw the day panning out, when he tried not to cry into his fruit juice this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. I guess I have to come home now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n This is a big chapter - please heed the content notes! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing as always. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note at end with spoilers.

It starts off as a normal day.

Not even that – a _good_ day. That's what will haunt Bellamy the most, in the days that follow after.

He wakes up. He finds Clarke stirring lightly in his arms. She's got much better at sleeping since life has been a little calmer, and he's beyond happy for her. He's pretty happy for himself, too, since they get quiet times like this together. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, because that's the kind of casual intimacy they share, these days. Sooner or later he's going to feel ready to tell her he wants to love her _properly_ , like a husband loves a wife, and he's pretty sure she's going to be happy about that. She wants to stay married to him, and that's something that makes him smile every single time he thinks of it.

He's smiling gradually more with each day that passes – so far, anyway. He hasn't forgotten that bad day that crept up on him last week. But he has learnt from it, and he's feeling a little more resilient and better-equipped to cope with low points like that.

He has a vague plan to lie here and read for a while. He wants to keep Clarke company – partly because he doesn't want her to wake up to see him gone and start fretting, but largely because he's determined to make the most of every minute he can spend in her presence. The way he sees it, they have too many missed years to make up on.

But he doesn't get to read. He goes to roll away and finds Clarke fisting her hands tight in the material of his ugly pyjama shirt.

"Stay." She asks simply.

He's not going to say no to that. He's left her behind too many times before when he should have stayed. He rubs a slow hand over her back and shoulders while he chooses his words.

"I was only reaching for a book." He tells her without heat.

"Wouldn't you rather have a chat with your wife than read?" She teases lightly.

"I thought my wife was asleep." He reminds her. He still gets a silly thrill each time they refer to each other as _husband_ and _wife_ , even though he knows it's more a running joke than anything.

"I'm awake now." She points out. He thinks that's a pretty unnecessary statement, really, but he's pleased to find that Clarke seems to have got her confident voice back, compared with all that stiff silence when they first married.

"Yeah. What have you got planned for today? Any meetings with Indra?" He keeps his voice carefully light, but in fact he is very invested in the answer to this question.

"Nothing much. No meetings. And Madi is spending some time with Gaia after school again."

Bellamy brightens. That's an even better answer than he was hoping for. He thought she might have morning or afternoon free, but didn't dare dream of _both_.

"Do you want to spend some time together?" He asks, deliberately casual. "Maybe come on a walk again or visit some friends together?"

"Sounds perfect. And then maybe we can have a quiet afternoon at home drawing together?" She suggests.

He grins to himself, buries his smile in the top of her hair. He feels a little self-conscious, in this moment, about just how overjoyed her words have made him. He only asked for a small excursion, and she countered by suggesting they hang out all afternoon, too. It's almost like she would rather spend time with him than do almost anything else.

And there really did seem to be a lot of _together_ in those plans, he notes.

"I'd like that." He says simply.

She nods, starts squirming and stretching a little more in his arms as if preparing to face the day. He knows what this means, and today, it strikes him that it might be a change for the better if he said it first.

"We should get out of bed. We have a kid to feed." He points out. It's usually Clarke who mentions it. But he thinks it could be good for both of them if he can dare to get more involved in Madi's welfare, and if Clarke feels like she does not have to be a martyr to motherhood.

Clarke seems to agree with him. He reads that in the way she pulls back, looks him right in the eyes with a soft smile. "Yeah. You're right. Thanks."

"Any time."

"No – I mean it. _We_ have a kid to feed. I like that." She swallows, looks away. "Being a mum on my own was hard. I know some people do a great job of it, and I think I did fine when we were in Shallow Valley. But parenting _and_ leading again is tough."

"It's tough, but you stuck with it. That's who you are." He reminds her softly. "I love Madi. But I'm not expecting you or her to suddenly decide I'm her dad just because I'm staying married to you."

It's funny, how easily it comes to him to say he loves Madi. That's the first time he's declared his love for anyone out loud, since Etherea – apart from saying he used to love Clarke, of course. It's easier, somehow, to talk about loving Madi like a parent or some member of her wider family. That's a less frightening kind of love than what he's still wrestling with where Clarke is concerned.

All the same, he thinks it's kind of fitting. He's had a challenging relationship with Madi in the past, wanted to love her but resented the distance between himself and Clarke, and blamed the child for it, if only within his own head. It's only right that she should be the first person he thinks of as he learns how to love again.

Clarke is still silent, Bellamy notes. It's been several long moments now, and he's beginning to wonder what he said wrong.

"Clarke?" He prompts. He looks down at her and finds her tearful but smiling.

"That's not why you're her dad, Bellamy. Or – half way there, maybe. It's because you're the only person besides me she knows won't leave her. She's having a hard time fixing things with Gaia after Sheidheda. She's still struggling with losing her birth parents when she was young – and I guess she always will. But you're still here, despite all the trouble you and her have had along the way. You love her unconditionally, like a parent should."

He gulps back tears. He did not see that one coming. And even though his self-esteem is not at its best, these days, he has to acknowledge the truth of Clarke's words. That's exactly what he's been trying to do – to be tenacious, to show Madi he's still going to be here for her and Clarke no matter what. It feels so good to know Clarke has recognised that, and to hear her imply that Madi appreciates it, too.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to touch a nerve." Clarke murmurs, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He smiles slightly, turns to nuzzle into her hand. "It's OK." He whispers against he palm. "It's good."

They lie there a few seconds longer, just sharing the moment. But it's Bellamy who forces himself to move first, determined to dress for the day and then go make breakfast for his kid. He's pretty sure that Madi can make her own toast, by this point in her life, but this morning he kind of wants to do it for her. That's probably silly, but he's always been a slightly sentimental sort.

He arrives downstairs. He cuts bread, sets it toasting. He searches out Madi's favourite jam, sets it on the table. He fills water glasses for all three of them, lays the dining room table with perhaps too much care.

He returns to the kitchen in time to see Madi setting the toast he made on one plate, and filling the toaster with more bread in turn.

"That plate's for you." He says quietly.

She turns, frowns at him. "No – it's the toast you put in. I plated it up for you."

"Yeah – but it's your toast." He argues back, starting to laugh. This is ridiculous. "I just wanted to make you breakfast." He explains.

"Well I wanted to plate your breakfast." She replies, grinning. "Can I at least put the next round of toast in for you?"

He crosses the kitchen, picks up the plate and starts waving it mock-threateningly in her general direction. "Eat the toast, Madi. Accept the nice gesture. You're worse than your mum."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." She says, chin raised in challenge.

He cannot help but smile at that. "So you should. She's incredible. Now eat your toast."

Madi admits defeat. She gives him a fleeting half-hug – the kind of affectionate gesture he's sometimes seen her share with Clarke, he thinks. And then she takes the plate of toast from the kitchen, bouncing with joy as she walks.

…...

Clarke has always enjoyed taking walks with Bellamy, for the record, or setting out on other kinds of expeditions with him. She's enjoyed it since they first walked to that supply depot, used to love sharing rover rides with him as they waited for the world to burn. He's just good company – upbeat even when the going gets tough, always with a supply of good conversation.

And yet, she must admit that she enjoys taking walks with him more now than she ever has before.

They've done this a couple of times, lately, just wandering around Sanctum together having a chat. Sometimes they call on his sister, like they did on that first occasion. Sometimes they simply put one foot in front of the other and talk about whatever comes to mind. Always they share silly comments about the sights they see and serious thoughts about the issues of the day.

"Where are we heading today?" Clarke asks, as they prepare to leave the palace.

"Thought we might go see Miller." Bellamy says, carefully light.

She nods, not greatly surprised. She knew this day was coming sooner or later. She remembers Bellamy and Miller being very close, back before Praimafaya. But between Blodreina and Etherea their relationship has faltered, since then. She thinks it's pretty promising, actually, that Bellamy has made enough progress with his to-fix list that he plans to pay a visit to Miller. That suggests he's feeling a lot more confident in himself, that he thinks things are going well with Octavia and Echo, presumably.

"Is he expecting us?" She asks mildly.

"No. But he should be home. I – uh – I asked Jackson."

Again, that's not such a surprise. Jackson may be Bellamy's therapist, but he's also his friend. There's little room for professional detachment in the world they inhabit. So Clarke simply nods and heads out the door.

She's not seen much of Miller herself, lately. She instinctively thinks of him as more Bellamy's friend than hers, although they've all been working together since their dropship days. And amidst everything else that has been going on she's ashamed to admit that she hasn't done more than chat with him in passing for some weeks now.

In her defence, she's had a lot on her plate. Negotiating peace with a madman, raising her daughter, and trying to nurse her husband back to health has not left much time for social calls. More than that, it's left no _energy_ for social calls. She loves Miller, just as she loves Gaia and Raven and a dozen other people she has not seen as often as she ought. But she's been forced to prioritise rather strictly.

Yes. Prioritising how to spend her time and energy was one of Jackson's instructions to her, in fact.

"Could we invite Miller and Jackson over to eat at our place some time?" Bellamy asks quietly, while they walk.

"Yeah. Sure, if you want. We'll see how this goes."

"It'll go fine. He's Miller." Bellamy says, as if it's obvious.

To be honest, she thinks he has a point.

They arrive. Bellamy knocks smartly at the door, Miller opens it soon after.

"Come on in." Miller says warmly, stepping back to gesture them inside. "I wondered when you'd get here."

"You were expecting us?" Bellamy asks, apparently a little perturbed.

"Yeah. I love Jacks, but he's not subtle. He told me to make sure I stayed home this morning and reminded me three times that healing is tough and forgiveness is important." Miller rolls his eyes slightly, laughing. "Come on, sit down, both of you."

Well, then. Apparently Bellamy was right. Apparently this will go fine, because Miller is still Miller.

Clarke watches Bellamy take a seat on the couch. She takes her usual place, close by his side. This may be an unfamiliar couch, but at least the seating arrangements are very familiar indeed. She turns to look expectantly at her husband, watches him swallow then take a deep breath.

"Miller. I wanted to say I'm sorry -"

"Save it." Miller says – not annoyed so much as _affectionate_ , Clarke thinks. The very image of a loyal, exasperated friend. "I don't need to hear it, Bellamy. I forgive you. You were working on forgiving me for supporting Octavia when she was Blodreina. I'll forgive you for this now. That's how we work. Didn't you get that from the cookies?"

"The ones you brought when I was sick? Yeah, I hoped. Thanks for those." Bellamy says, smiling a tentative smile.

"I don't want us to waste this time being sorry." Miller presses on. "I've missed you guys. I get that you're busy and it's been hard but it's been _ages_ since we've had chance to catch up. So quit apologising and tell me how you've been."

Bellamy falls silent. He turns to Clarke, a question in his eyes. How have they been? Do either of them even know how to begin to answer that?

"We've been getting better." Clarke offers. That's the truth, after all.

"Great. Good. Tell me more. How's Madi?"

"As stubborn as her mother." Bellamy tries joking.

Clarke looks across at him, fond. It's good to hear him learning how to tease once more.

Miller nods, smiling an encouraging smile. "And are you two doing better?" He asks, a little gruff.

"Yeah. Much better." Bellamy answers at once.

Silence falls. But it's not an _awkward_ silence, as such – just a moment of quiet genuinely caused by none of them knowing quite what to say.

It is Miller who breaks it.

"You want to hear more about the guard? Indra has changed a few things, got us working together with Eligius."

"I'd love to hear about that." Bellamy says at once, genuinely animated. He must miss his old comrades, Clarke fears. Of course many of them are dead, now.

"Great." Miller nods, bites his lip a moment. "You know there's still a place for you with us, right? If ever you want it, there's a jacket with your name on it."

Another pause. Clarke is smiling to herself slightly, because she suspects that Bellamy would like nothing more than to swap his robe for a familiar black jacket just as soon as all this is through. She supposes she shouldn't be smiling, because they're meant to be keeping quiet about his changed loyalties, but she's happy to watch this hand of friendship stretch between them all the same.

"Thanks, Miller. Maybe one day." Bellamy tries.

"You've changed your tune." It's not an accusation, nor a criticism. Miller simply offers it up as a statement of fact.

"Yeah. I have. I'm still figuring a few things out with Clarke." Bellamy hedges.

Miller takes his point. He only nods, mind working hard behind a tight smile. Clarke has always admired that about Miller – the way he puts his loyalty above his curiosity. The people he cares about are simply more important to him than his own selfish desire for answers.

She's not like that, she reflects ruefully. She can't leave a difficult issue alone, will always keep picking at it like a scab.

She's shaken from her slow slide into self-loathing by a hand on her thigh. That's Bellamy, gripping just a little too tightly, showing that this conversation with Miller is in danger of becoming a bit much.

That's fine. She's got this. They can manage it, between them.

"What were you saying about Indra's reforms?" She asks pointedly.

Miller takes his cue, starts talking about mixed divisions of Skaikru and Wonkru and Eligius, about Echo training with Nikki.

It's a pretty great visit, all things considered. And at the end of it, a dinner invitation is issued and accepted.

…...

Bellamy is in a thoroughly good mood by the time he settles down for an afternoon on the couch with Clarke. They've had a successful morning together, a relaxed lunch, and now they are just going to sit quietly and enjoy each other's company.

He's not shy about reaching an arm around her, when they sit down. Seamless hugging is kind of their thing, now. He doesn't know if or when they'll try anything more overtly romantic or sexual. He's not even sure if this will turn out to be that kind of marriage, or whether they're simply staying together as best friends who cannot imagine a better option, after all that life has thrown at them. But either way, he's pretty happy. He has Clarke in his life, and that's a lot more than he had on Etherea, or in space. To be honest, it's more than he's had at any other time in all the years they have known each other.

Clarke doesn't just sit quietly in his embrace. She kicks her shoes off, tucks her feet up by her side and leans right into his chest.

It's perfect, this. He knows on a logical level that cuddling his wife cannot actually cure the bundle of mental and physical illnesses he brought back from Etherea. He knows that the medicine for his bronchitis and the therapy with Jackson and a whole host of other factors have been involved.

But he knows that feeling utterly accepted and supported is a large part of it, too.

Maybe that's why he says it.

"Can you sit up a minute? I want to take my robe off." He doesn't really need to wear it inside now the weather is growing warmer, and he'll feel much less formal and more comfortable without it, he figures.

She pulls away from his side, brows raised. "Are you taking your clothes off for me now, husband?" She teases.

He should laugh. He is most definitely supposed to laugh. But all he can do, in this moment, is flush like a flustered teenager in the midst of his first crush. Has Clarke guessed that he's started daring to see her in that way again?

"Sorry." She says, reading his reaction, leaning away and now flushing in turn. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He shrugs, tosses his robe over a nearby chair. He used to be so confident, back at the dropship. Back before life destroyed his youthful arrogance. He tries for a bold tone, now, as he gathers his thoughts to reply.

"Just don't want to get charcoal on it. Now get back here." He demands, mock-petulant.

She smiles cautiously, settles back into his side. He wraps an arm around her, reaches for his charcoal and gets to work.

Clarke is supposed to be drawing too, he's pretty sure. He could swear that was the point of this afternoon. But as it is, she just seems to be stroking his bare arm and wearing a thoughtful expression.

He doesn't push it. She'll tell him what's on her mind when she's ready. And in the meantime, it's pretty pleasant having her hand brushing over his skin like this.

He draws for a while – not a scene from Etherea, but an attempt at the look on Clarke's face when he first returned. She picks up her charcoal eventually and starts on a more convincing rendition of some scene with Madi from Shallow Valley.

And she's still stroking his arm, for what it's worth.

He jumps when he hears the knock at the door. They're not expecting anyone – Madi isn't due home from Gaia's until supper time. And this is a knock at the door that sounds loud, and urgent, and _panicked_.

Clarke is out of her seat at once, striding out into the hall. Bellamy shoves his arms in the sleeves of his robe, cursing the damn garment for delaying him, now. He wants to be right by Clarke's side to face whatever this new crisis might be, not having a fight with this ridiculous item of clothing.

At last, he makes it to the front door. Clarke already has it open, and Gaia is explaining herself.

"It's Madi. I went to pick her up from school after her soccer and she wasn't there. The other kids said they hadn't seen her – they thought she wasn't staying to play today. They haven't seen her for about an hour."

Clarke is frozen, blinking rapidly, and Bellamy is worried about her. He needs to act, needs to fix this for her.

Where the hell should he start?

"Come in and close the door." He tells Gaia briskly.

She does. And the moment the door is shut and the outside world cannot see them, Bellamy reaches for Clarke and wraps her in a fierce hug.

"She's OK. We'll find her. I promise." He murmurs, still holding her. "Gaia? Did any of the kids see anything?"

"No."

Bellamy nods. He thinks he has a good idea of what's happened, here. He remembers Doucette's warning that Madi would be in danger if Cadogan could convince his Disciples to capture her. But he cannot just march into Bardo and accuse him baselessly – that would ruin the alliance.

Also his cover. There's that too.

Damn it. Maybe he's panicking just a little, here, as well. Maybe his brain isn't quite firing on all cylinders. But he needs to hold it together and support Clarke. He cannot afford to let his concern for the girl he was only just beginning to allow himself to think of as a daughter run away with him.

He needs her back here safe so they can finish learning how to be a family.

He releases Clarke from the hug, steps back from her. He looks her up and down, takes in her pale face and determined expression. She's not wearing any shoes, he notices. It's a silly thought. But she's still padding about in socks from their quiet afternoon on the couch together.

So much for that.

"You're doing really well." Bellamy tells her firmly, because she is. She's breathing calmly – if a little too carefully – and she looks relatively composed.

"They'll want her alive, at least to begin with." Clarke says, toneless.

"Yeah. That's if it's them."

"We know it's them." She counters at once.

"We _think_ it's them." He corrects her. "We have to check. You know we do. We'll ruin everything if we jump straight in and we're wrong."

"You just don't want to admit it's your old friends." She snaps.

There's a horrific pause. He's frowning at her, confused. And then she realises what she's done.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy. I'm sorry for lashing out."

He nods, tries for a thin smile. It's OK. He understands she's taken a few steps backwards at the sudden news of Madi's disappearance. He reaches out a hand towards her, squeezes her shoulder softly.

"Let's go find out what we can, and be quick." He suggests.

Clarke nods. "Yeah. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

Gaia steps up to join the conversation. "I'll check with the children of Gabriel and the north end of the village."

"I'll take south and the school." Clarke says.

"I'll talk to the Eligius guys." Bellamy concludes.

Nods all round. Clarke's hand is already on the door handle.

"Put some shoes on, Clarke." Bellamy reminds her pointedly.

With that, he strides out the door, leaving her staring, perplexed, at her own socked feet. He wishes he could stay and help her out, but he knows the best way of helping her right now is to see what he can learn about Madi's disappearance.

He suspects that it is the Disciples who have taken her. Doucette did tell them of the threat, and besides which he doesn't see where else she could be. He honestly cannot imagine her running away – he knows kids her age sometimes have secrets from their parents, but he doesn't think she's so terribly unhappy or anxious that she would want to run. She seems like a perky kid, she's been feeling better recently, and besides which she really does love Clarke. And he thinks it's unlikely that any of the other groups around Sanctum would have kidnapped her. Sure, Sheidheda's old loyalists occasionally cause a little trouble, from what he hears, but he believes they are more angry with Indra than with Clarke.

He's scared, as he jogs round the village asking after Madi. He's not frantic in quite that same way he watched Clarke grow frantic, because he knows that Madi's safety is a particularly tender spot for her anxiety. But he has to admit that he's worried witless all the same.

He feels almost guilty about feeling so worried, actually. She is not quite his daughter, although they are starting to consider each other family. He does not have a _right_ to worry about her in the same way Clarke does – he ought to be strong for her sake, rather than allowing himself to indulge in worry.

Well. It seems like there's nothing much to be done about it.

He searches the Eligius area of the village carefully, asks everyone he sees. No news here – and no shifty looks, either. Nothing to rouse suspicion. A few folks even join the search effort, running off into the night and promising to report back.

He doesn't bother telling them they are wasting their time, that he plans to be gone to Bardo by the time they get back. He knows that they will feel better for having something to do, in this moment. It will make them feel useful. Madi is loved by many even here, and he suspects half the village will be out searching vainly for her before the day is through.

But now, he decides, it is time to head home and acknowledge that the Disciples have taken his stepdaughter. And then it will be time to say a brisk goodbye to Clarke and head straight to Bardo after her.

He's made his mind up on that. This is a chance for him to be useful as the inside man. And yes, sure, he was supposed to be saving the trump card of his defection to win peace. But he finds that he does not much care for peace, if his little family is not safe and well to enjoy it.

If that makes him selfish, then apparently he's selfish.

It's liberating to decide that, after all these weeks struggling with his identity. He strides through the front door of his home feeling almost confident, finds Clarke already there pacing the hallway.

"She must be in Bardo. I'm going to get her." He announces, utterly sure of himself.

Clarke crumples. She stops pacing, sags against the wall and dashes tears from her eyes. He strides over there, wipes them away as gently as he can. Now he's made his decision – now their little girl is missing – he's quite keen to get on his way.

"It's OK. I'll get her back, Clarke. I promise I'll get her back."

"You can't promise that." She says, with a helpless shake of her head.

"I can. I swear to you I'll get her back no matter what it takes. I've let you down too many times before and I'm not about to let you down now." He tells her, firm. He's ready to throw himself at this challenge, heart and soul.

"Take care of yourself too."

"Clarke -"

"Take care of yourself." She begs. " _Please_. I need you to come home, too."

He frowns. He doesn't know whether he can promise that. It's not in his nature – self-preservation has never been of much interest to him. And anyway, it's Madi, and they both -

Clarke interrupts his thoughts with a searing kiss on the lips. It's brief, urgent. It's rushed and messy, honestly, a little damp from tears and over almost before it has begun.

And yet it's _wonderful_. In the midst of this terrible mess, it is pure perfection.

He reaches in for another kiss. He's not willing to leave it at that, not when he's about to run off into the unknown. He tangles a hand in her hair, presses his lips to hers and kisses her hungrily, insistently. He tries to show her everything he's not found the words to say just yet – that he intends to love her, that maybe he's already most of the way there. That they're a family, a real married couple, a team to the end of time.

It's a good kiss. Too good. He ought to be leaving, but he's not sure how to tear himself away.

He manages it. He forces himself to take a whole step back, puts a foot or more between himself and Clarke.

"I guess I have to come home now." He teases, a little desperate.

She laughs, but now she sounds more apprehensive than totally hysterical, he thinks. That's progress.

"I mean it. I'll come back to you safe. I – we need to talk about this." He gestures between the two of them, swallows hard. "We need to try that again sometime." He concludes.

She nods, smiling shyly. It's totally incongruous, in this time and place, but that's how things go with them, isn't it? Joy snatched in the midst of despair.

"Yeah – that was -" She gives up, shrugs. "Just come home, both of you. Are you sure you're going to be OK? After – after last week?"

"Yeah. I'm alright. I want to do this."

"OK. I trust you."

He nods. He wants to say something else, but he's not sure what. If these are to be his last words to her, they had better be something good.

No. What a stupid thought. This is not how their story ends – he is determined of that. Their story ends with grandchildren, with sketching by the fire, with hugs at dawn and dusk and all the moments in between.

So it is that he simply pulls her in for one more kiss, and then strides straight out the door.

…...

Clarke tries very hard to keep on top of things, once Bellamy has left.

She starts small. Breathing. She's doing OK at that, actually. Something about those desperate kisses and touches has somehow helped her to stay rooted in her body, in this moment. She's here, heart beating, chest rising and falling.

She tries walking, next. She walks to the bedroom she shares with Bellamy, looks at the sketches of their little family that adorn the walls. They're coming home, she reminds herself. She can trust Bellamy. He has let her down before now, yes, but she has let him down too. That's what it means to be human – to understand that life is not perfect, but to keep loving and hoping all the same. And she trusts that he will not let her down with this. She saw the conviction in his eyes just now.

She picks up his pyjama shirt and holds it to her face. She breathes in deeply, takes comfort in the familiar scent and the press of soft fabric against her cheek. He's OK. He's going to come home to her. He came home from Mount Weather all those years ago, didn't he?

She keeps the shirt with her as she walks to Madi's room. She's going to sit on her daughter's bed for a moment and gather her thoughts. No point dwelling on the fact that Madi is missing – she's going to do her best to practise compartmentalising and getting on with something useful.

Yes. She's doing better than expected, really.

She's coping.

What should she do next? Drink some water? Tell Indra the news?

She wants to do something to _help_. She doesn't want that in the instinctive, panicky way she felt it when she first learnt that Madi was missing. That was a pure frenzied urge to run out and find her child. It's different, now she's a little more functional. She wants to help because helping is what she _does_. Because two people she loves are in a tough situation and she wants to get them out of it.

Because sitting at home and waiting does not come naturally to her.

She won't have to wait long for news, she supposes. Time moves much faster on Bardo. But that makes her even more determined to step up and do something to help them as soon as she sensibly can.

She forces herself to arrange the puzzle pieces in her mind. Minimal casualties. Like Mount Weather, but doing better. Levitt onside, Doucette wavering in his faith.

Winning hearts and minds.

That's it. She has a plan. Time to go find Raven and ask for a little technical support.

She's going to go save her family – and, with any luck, the rest of the human race, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n Thanks for reading!
> 
> Content note: missing person, kidnapping


	12. The perfect peaceful protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter with Some Significant Developments. Huge thanks to everyone who is still reading and commenting on this fic for your encouragement - it really does make it easier to stick with a long fic! Thanks to Stormkpr as well for betaing. Happy reading!

Bellamy has to admit that this week could be going better.

Madi is still in a cell just down the hall. He is still playing the loyal Disciple, nodding and smiling at all of Cadogan's most objectionable words. It makes him sick, really, to see how wrong he was to fall for this faith in the first place. He supposes he only saw the good parts of it on Etherea – light and hope and salvation when he needed it most. But now he's spent seven days face-to-face with the reality of Bardo and he's realising just how corrupt his old Shepherd is.

He's no closer to figuring out how to get Madi out of here – short of just breaking her out, hoping Doucette and Levitt are with him, taking out a few guards and running. But he really doesn't want to do that, because he feels like it has too much potential to get messy.

He's worried that he's not made more progress. He's made it his life's mission to take care of people, and he can feel himself starting to slide into a low mood as he begins to feel that he has failed at that, now. More than anything, he's scared of letting Clarke down. He's let her down too many times before. And if he lets her down now, with this most important mission, she will never want him in her life again – not to mention they would both be devastated to lose Madi.

Yet for all that this week could be going better, it could be going _worse_ , too.

The MCAP machine has been conveniently broken since Madi's arrival. He believes they have Levitt to thank for that – but Shoana, too, who has somehow struggled to fix the fault. Funny, that, seeing as she's spent her whole life working as an engineer in that department. Madi is imprisoned, yes, but safe and well, and Bellamy has risked going to see her a couple of times. Even keeping his words and actions careful for the cameras, he thinks he managed to show her that he's here to take care of her as best he can. She seems to be holding up well, and by a stroke of luck it is Levitt who is mainly taking care of her.

In short, it is obvious that some of these people have his back – and Madi's. But he doesn't want to start a coup and risk getting them killed. He hasn't the stomach for that, after Mount Weather. He wishes he and Madi could just melt seamlessly through the walls back to Sanctum.

He's just pulling his robe on, ready to face the day. Ready for another few hours of nodding at Cadogan's every word and trying to decide how the hell to break this stalemate peacefully.

But then there is a pounding at his door, and Levitt bursts in, breathless.

"Disciple Blake. The MCAP facilities are operational." He says, his careful tone quite at odds with his wild eyes.

Bellamy nods heavily. Cadogan has managed to convince someone to fix them at last. They cannot break the machine again without rousing suspicion. He can feel their options narrowing, the walls around him closing in. Is it always to come down to this? A desperate only choice? Lashing out to save a child he has sworn to protect?

"Then let us escort the prisoner." He says, equally level.

Levitt nods. Bellamy clasps his hands together neatly, ever the devoted Disciple. And as he walks down the hall at Levitt's side he has the real conversation in a hurried, urgent whisper.

"I'm going to get her out of here and run. Any better ideas?" Bellamy asks.

"None. I'll keep the guards off your back. A distraction of some kind. I know others will be with me."

He nods. Levitt will have Shoana for company at least. Possibly Hayden, too, he wonders, or even First Disciple Doucette himself. That's enough for a good diversion, surely?

But Bellamy doesn't want to leave chaos behind him. He doesn't want to set fire to an acid tank and then run. Should he shove Madi into the anomaly back to Sanctum and then double back to help his friends?

No. He promised Clarke he'd bring himself home, too. He can't let her down again.

They arrive at Madi's cell. Bellamy recognises the guards on the door – a pair of young women he seems to remember trained with Echo and Octavia, from the stories he has heard.

Perfect. They are unlikely to ask too many questions.

"I'm here to take the prisoner to MCAP." He says, careful and clear.

The guards nod easily. Of course they do – he's Disciple Blake, who survived Etherea. A close companion of the First Disciple, often seen together with their Shepherd. Of all the times he has played the inside man, he thinks, this one has been the easiest to sell.

That's because it's been grounded in truth.

The door opens. Madi looks up at him, face carefully blank. His daughter is a good kid. He's furious that she's had to learn how to act this well, but proud of her all the same.

"I'm here to escort you." He tells her.

She nods. She stands up, head dropped low, every inch the despairing prisoner. She walks to the door, resignation in every line of her face, in the slope of her shoulders and the heaviness of her steps.

Bellamy turns to Levitt, gives him a brisk nod.

"Disciple Levitt."

"Disciple Blake."

That's it. That's all the leave-taking he can afford, for this man who has saved his sister and now his little girl. To say more would look suspicious in the extreme. But Bellamy is likely never to see this man again, when he abandons him to the chaos he will surely leave behind him when he flees with Madi.

Love really hurts, sometimes.

He starts walking calmly down the hall, Madi trotting obediently at his side.

"If anyone asks, I'm taking you to MCAP." He whispers to her. "But we're really heading for the stone. When we get there I might need your help taking out the guards – non-lethal force. But we'll try some story about being done with you and sending you home first."

"What do you mean – sending _me_ home? You're coming with me, right?"

"I'll do my best. I told your mother I'd come home."

He swallows tightly. This is a difficult conversation to have while his face must stay neutral for the cameras. It's a difficult thing to discuss in frantic whispers.

"We'll make it." Madi says, utterly confident. "We've got this, Bellamy. Clarke's right to trust you."

That makes him feel a little better. That has him breathing a little deeper, striding down the hall more confidently. This is good. If he can just keep this up they'll -

"People of Bardo, may I have your attention please."

He gasps, falters, staggers to a halt. He knows that voice – the voice that is now echoing over the speaker system. He knows that voice _well_. He would recognise her anywhere, but he sure as hell didn't expect to hear her here and now.

"My name is Clarke Griffin." She continues, booming loud. "I'm here today to talk to you about something very important."

"What's she doing?" Madi whispers urgently.

Bellamy shakes his head. He has no idea. He only knows that it must be something designed to help them, one of Clarke's great plans. And he has no intention of wasting it. He takes Madi's hand and starts running, even as Clarke's voice keeps echoing above their heads.

"I'm here to talk to you about love. Love is easy to lose sight of, isn't it? Love gets lost along the way in war. But I think love is the most important thing of all."

He doesn't understand what she's doing, at first. He's still running, still keeping a careful eye on Madi at his side.

But then he rounds the next corner, and sees the door jammed open. He runs through it, catches a glimpse of Clarke's face on a wide screen out of the corner of his eye.

She's jamming their systems – with Raven's help, presumably. She's brought down every communications channel in Bardo and replaced it with a message about love so he and Madi can get out without being stopped.

She's a _genius_ , his wife. She's simply awesome. No door will be locked for them. No guards will be summoned, because they cannot call each other to help.

She's also still talking about the power of love.

"Love is what binds us together and makes us all human. I didn't always understand that – I thought my love for my family and my people was different from your love for all mankind. But I've learnt a few things in recent months. I've learnt that I was _wrong_." She says firmly. "We have more in common than what divides us. We all want the best for the human race. It was my husband who showed me how much we have in common. You probably know him – Disciple Blake. A good man and a brave one, who survived a pilgrimage to Etherea and then brought our people together by marrying me. He's taught me a lot about love since we got married. I love him so much – and that's scary, sometimes. Love can be frightening, yes. But don't let Cadogan tell you it's not worth it. Don't let him convince you that the answer is to give up and walk into the light. Stick with it. Stick with life and love. Cadogan's lying to you about the last war. Our experts have translated it as a final test, instead. What else might Cadogan be wrong about? Could he be wrong about love? Let's find a way to work together instead, to unite in the name of love – for all mankind."

Bellamy keeps running, breathless, Madi still by his side. He's not sure whether he's gasping more from exertion or from the revelations that just keep spilling from Clarke's mouth. She _loves_ him? Does she mean that? Or is she just trying to win the day with minimal casualties?

Clarke isn't speaking, now. He wonders whether that means the plan has gone wrong. But it doesn't seem like such a disaster – as they run past the mess hall, he can hear the sound of a few people breaking into tentative applause.

And then Clarke's message begins from the top all over again.

…...

Clarke is frustrated, as she paces the stone room and waits for things to happen.

She knows she's doing the right thing by staying here. She knows Bellamy will get Madi here, so it's far more sensible for her to stay put than to take off looking for them in a bunker she barely knows. Meanwhile Raven and Gabriel have vanished to work on the technical side of things, so having Clarke here to watch the stone is the only choice. She didn't want to risk bringing lots of warriors on this mission and things getting messy – two engineers and one tired leader seemed like the right approach to a coup based on love.

She hopes it works. She's feeling confident it will work at least well enough to get Madi and Bellamy out – hopefully Levitt and Doucette and anyone else who has helped them, too. She's less confident about the bloodless coup. She doesn't know if their inside men have made enough progress with winning hearts and minds, doesn't know the people of Bardo well enough to be sure that her heartfelt words will be an effective last straw.

And yet, she does not feel that anxious. She has done the best she can. She trusts Bellamy, and Raven – and somehow she still trusts the innate goodness of humanity, even after everything she has been through. She blames Bellamy for that, the raw optimism he taught her years ago that is still overriding her tired cynicism.

At last, Bellamy and Madi run through the wide open door. Clarke dashes to them, wraps them both in her arms at once, feels Bellamy press a kiss to her cheek even as Madi burrows into her embrace.

But unfortunately, there is not the time for a lot of prolonged hugging.

Bellamy realises it first. He pulls away, starts setting the stone for Sanctum.

"What's the plan?" He asks as he works.

Clarke squeezes Madi tight one last time, then releases her. "Madi goes home. We stay and fix the mess I made." She doesn't even bother suggesting he goes home without her, because she knows he would say no, and they have precious little time to waste. "If it looks like Cadogan is staying in power, we should at least get Levitt and Doucette out of here."

Bellamy nods at her, approving. "Shoana too. Maybe Hayden."

"And the lady who was guarding my door that first night" Madi pipes up. "I don't know her name. But when she gave me my food she told me not to worry and that my father had shown up."

There's a beat of silence. Bellamy is frowning hard. Clarke is thinking that there's a lot of good news, here – if guards whose names they do not even know are with them, then perhaps this bloodless coup will work out after all.

"I want to stay and help." Madi protests, breaking the silence.

It's Bellamy who fields that one, in the end. It's Bellamy who crouches down to her eye level and sets his hands on her arms to explain things to her.

"I know you want to, Madi. I know how hard it is to sit at home and worry about the people you love. But we're more likely to get this done safely if we're not worrying about you. The best thing you can do to help us now is to walk into that anomaly and not look back. We'll see you at home, OK?"

Madi nods, tears falling. Clarke walks over, pulls her into one last, frantic hug.

"I love you. _Both_ of you." Madi says fiercely.

"I love you too, kid." Bellamy tells her, sounding a little choked.

"I love you too." Clarke echoes, pushing her towards the cloud of green. "Go on. We'll see you soon."

She does go. She turns to walk to safety, head held high.

Clarke crumples just a little, when Madi disappears from sight. She leans into Bellamy's side, overcome for a second by the pain of having to send her daughter away, not knowing whether she'll survive this mess to see her again.

She takes a deep breath, draws herself up to her full height. She recalls what Madi said about that guard. There is good news, here, she tries to convince herself.

"That message was a great idea." Bellamy says quietly.

"Thanks. I was trying to work on what we said about hearts and minds. And I remember Kane telling me something after Mount Weather – how he wishes we'd just made a deal to donate bone marrow."

Bellamy nods. He looks at her for a long moment, brows knitted together in a frown.

And then he's bending to kiss her, hard and fast, with a tangle of urgency and relief and something that tastes a little like fear.

It's a brief kiss. It has to be. They have a crisis to solve. But all the same, it has Clarke wondering what Bellamy made of the love confession buried within her message.

No. That's silly. This is not the time or the place.

"Let's go see how it looks." She says simply, taking his hand and heading towards the door.

He doesn't walk with her. Not quite, not yet. He keeps hold of her hand, just watching her, until their arms are both outstretched.

"What?" She turns to him, alarmed. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, wearing a sad smile. "Nothing. Just – a selfish thought. I don't want to lose you when we're only just figuring things out."

"You won't lose me. We're stuck with each other, now." She tells him, waving her left hand towards him.

That's the moment he sees it. That's the moment he gasps, realises she's been wearing a simple wedding ring all this time. Then he's grinning, shaking his head, laughing a little at himself.

"Can't believe I only just noticed."

"We've had a few other things to deal with. Come on, husband. I figure there's no point keeping this marriage quiet much longer."

He nods. He walks forward – not level with her, but past her, relinquishing her hand and heading for the door.

"Stay behind me." He tells her softly.

She snorts. He's been telling her to stay behind him for _years_. And yes, sure, it's a sentiment that always makes her feel a rush of affection for him.

But today, she wants to face the danger side-by-side.

They wander round the hall, tense, on edge. It seems too quiet, no sound apart from Clarke's recorded voice echoing over their heads. But there are no _natural_ noises. No hum of chatter, no thwack of boots against the floor.

Doucette rounds the corner at a run, skidding on his elegant white shoes.

"There you are! Great to see you!" He exclaims jovially – as if they were finally meeting up for that meal together, Clarke thinks. It's so incongruous she could laugh.

Then he starts hugging. He pulls Bellamy in first, of course, with much back-slapping and laughter. But then he reaches for Clarke, too, and she finds herself engulfed in a most enthusiastic hug from a man she barely knows.

Maybe that's what she gets, for giving that speech about the power of love.

"I need some help, I'm afraid." Doucette tells them when the hugs are done. "A few of the level twelves have Cadogan under a sort of citizen's arrest. We're trying to figure out what to do with him. Can I ask you to keep that white robe on a little longer and help make this look official?" He asks Bellamy.

Bellamy nods at once, smiling slightly.

Clarke relaxes. This is good news. If just that message was enough to get the senior Disciples to abandon Cadogan, then things are looking up.

Then Doucette turns to her with a rather apologetic look on his face.

"Clarke. I'm sorry. There are two hundred people in the hall for breakfast at the minute banging their spoons on their bowls and demanding change. Could you maybe – could you try to keep them calm while we deal with Cadogan?"

She laughs. She just cannot help it. Of course that's what she's doing now – she's going to deal with a peaceful protest over porridge. They can't afford to let that turn angry and violent, so she smothers her giggles and nods.

"I think they'll be excited to see you. Maybe just give them your speech in person for a bit. Or tell them more about marriage and romantic love – I know I always find it pretty fascinating to hear about you two." Doucette admits, a little sheepish.

Bellamy breaks the tense moment. He laughs, reaches out to squeeze Clarke's shoulder. "Good luck, wife. Bardo's first celebrity couple. Who'd have seen that coming?"

She shakes her head, presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then sets off down the hallway.

She thinks this is the right way for the canteen.

It is. That becomes quite clear when she starts to hear a clanging, pounding sort of noise. Sure enough, this is definitely a cutlery and crockery based protest. The doors of the canteen are jammed open, of course, so she walks right in.

Silence falls at once. She is recognised instantly. Spoons fall from hands, jaws drop open.

She gathers her courage. She climbs onto a nearby table, stands proud and tall. She's had a think about what Doucette said just now, reviewed the content of her message, and she believes she knows where to start.

"Bill Cadogan is under arrest!" She declares.

A small splatter of polite applause. They really are funny people, these Disciples, but she looks forward to getting to know them better in time. Above her head, the speakers cut out. Her message is no longer broadcasting. Raven must have eyes on her, she realises, and she is comforted by that thought.

"First Disciple Doucette and Disciple Blake are there now. They're seeking a peaceful solution – an appropriate response to Cadogan's wrongdoings without inciting violence."

More polite applause.

"I'm so proud of them. Those two men really know what love means, don't they? They kept each other alive on Etherea. They helped each other get home. And they've maintained their friendship ever since – even when things have been difficult. I know Doucette really supported Bellamy in the early days of the alliance and our marriage."

The applause is more genuine, this time. No doubt about it. These people are fond of Doucette – of course they are, he's a warm guy. And it seems he was right to suggest that these people are fascinated by her relationship with Bellamy.

So it is that she spends the next half hour of her life standing on a table, treading carefully between bowls of porridge, and sharing stories of her wonderful husband and his kind best friend.

It's a unique experience – but for once, the unexpected is not such a bad thing.

…...

It's been a rather anticlimactic coup, Bellamy thinks, and he's decided that's quite the best kind of coup.

Cadogan has been detained and will face a trial. The senior Disciples have a lot to figure out on that front – the man could probably be accused of anything from torture to fraud to war crimes. But for now the name of the game is keeping everyone calm and setting up a new system of government in his place. There is talk, too, of perhaps even moving to Sanctum – life in a compound above ground sounds more attractive than living in this bunker, or even than transcendence. It would help with the idea of common ground and unity for the human race, as well.

But Bellamy thinks it is not the time to figure out everything. He's learnt a thing or two from Clarke, over the years. And in this situation, there is no need to rush in all at once. Keeping the peace and figuring things out with some care and attention to detail is a much better idea.

He and Levitt take first watch on the door of Cadogan's cell. They're both loyal to the cause of love, and it frees up Doucette and the other level twelves to make a start on their very long to-do lists.

But it's not long before Clarke appears, striding down the hall as if she owns the place, a smile threatening to split her cheeks.

"Go on, Levitt. Get out of here. You must be desperate to visit Octavia. I'll stay here and keep Bellamy company."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Give Madi our love. Tell her we're fine and we'll be right behind you, her time."

Levitt does not argue with his stroke of good luck. He thanks them both, hugs them both, waves at them both exuberantly as he turns to jog in the direction of the stone.

And so it is that Bellamy finds himself left alone with his wife. He reaches out for her, and she meets him half way in a kiss. He's glad of that. He can't get enough of kissing her, since that frantic afternoon when he left to look for Madi. It's like those frenzied kisses broke through whatever last barrier was stopping him from feeling comfortable with such things as pleasure and arousal.

He forces himself to pull away. They probably shouldn't make love for the first time in the hallway outside Cadogan's cell door.

"You doing alright?" He asks her, looking her up and down – partly to check for injuries, partly because in all honesty he simply likes looking at her.

She nods. "You?"

"Yeah."

Silence falls. He forces himself to let go of her completely, because they really should be concentrating on guarding this door. Not that Cadogan could do much if he did get out – his former followers seem to have no time for him, now, and if this morning's events are anything to go by he would simply get marched straight back here again.

But still. Bellamy is a cadet of the Ark guard. He wants to do his duty properly. He might get a new jacket, if he does a decent job. That's a thought that makes him smile.

The silence stretches out longer. There's something Bellamy has been desperate to ask since the moment he first heard Clarke's message. But now that he has the opportunity, he's not sure he quite has the courage.

He can't bear for her answer to be _no_.

He steels himself, takes a deep breath.

"Did you mean it?" He asks simply. "What you said about loving me?"

She looks at him sharply. "Of course I meant it."

He nods, swallows a sticky swallow, not sure whether to laugh or cry, smile or crumple at her feet and beg forgiveness. Why does love have to be so messy and frightening?

She talked about that in her message. He remembers it well. Have courage and stick with it – wasn't that the idea?

"Thanks." He says, inadequate. "I wasn't sure whether you still did, after everything you said when we first got married about needing time to process and fall out of love with me."

She nods tightly. "Well – I do."

He nods in turn. He doesn't bother asking what kind of love she means, whether she's talking about friendship or romance or attraction or all of the above. It's obvious, now she's said it. Now he's heard the words he can see in every line of her face, every crease about her eyes, that she loves him in _all_ the ways it is possible to love a person.

"I'm sorry – I'm not ready to say it yet." He tells her, hands spread helplessly. "You must know how much I care about you. And being married to you is everything I've -"

"No." She cuts him off, firm. "If you can't say it because you don't feel it, that's OK. Just be honest with me. I'll cope. We've survived worse things before now than some one-sided love." She says, smiling sadly. "But don't keep quiet because you're _not ready_. There's no point waiting for the perfect moment, Bellamy. If there is one thing life has taught me, _the perfect moment never comes_. I nearly didn't get to tell you at all. I died on you twice, you died on me once and then came home with a stranger, then _as_ a stranger yourself. Do you think I was _ready_ to tell you today, like that, _using_ it to make a point and stop a war? Do you think I was ready to tell Finn when he was dying or Lexa when she was dead?"

He bites his lip, takes in her words. It's just so _Clarke_ – the way she's come out fighting, the combination of fire and tenderness in her words. It's everything that makes his partnership with her so special. They take care of each other, and part of that is the way they don't shy away from telling the hard truths.

When he looks at it like that, his next words seem obvious.

"I love you."

She turns to him, stunned. "What did you just say?"

"I love you. Come on, surely you realised I'd say it after all that?" He begins to dare to tease.

She shakes her head. "No. No, I thought you were just being kind. I thought you still couldn't feel it. Or – I don't know. I've just got so used to being disappointed. I guess I was trying not to hope for it."

He smiles sadly at her, reaches out to take her hand and play with her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger as he speaks.

"You were right. I was holding out until I felt... comfortable, I guess. But when have our lives ever been comfortable? I don't have to have my head fixed and everything figured out and peace all around us to be allowed to love you." And that's a good thing, he thinks, because he suspects that _fixing_ his head is not such a clear-cut destination.

"I love you." She tells him now, smiling through tears. "I know you've already heard me say it. But – it feels good to say it to your face."

He bends to kiss her. He honestly is obsessed with kissing her, at the moment. And he figures that a bit of kissing after a tangled love declaration outside the cell of a tyrant is pretty perfect for him and Clarke. It suits their wonderful relationship, the way they snatch happiness together in the unlikeliest of places.

She was so right to tell him he can love her, just as he is. To tell him that waiting and readiness are simply not relevant. He thinks maybe he needed her to say something like that – to give him _permission_ , almost, to allow himself this happiness. To let go of a little more of his guilt.

He figures it's time he helped her with some happiness in turn.

"For what it's worth, I'm still holding out hope for that perfect moment. Even if I plan to love you in the imperfect moments, too. But one of these days I promise we'll live simple, peaceful lives. You'll learn to sleep in all morning if you want to. I'll play soccer with Madi until we're tired and need to stop and bake cookies. And I'll learn what noise you make when I kiss that little soft spot on your neck I always nuzzle when we hug."

She doesn't laugh at his sentimental foolishness. She looks up at him with big, round eyes as if it's the most magical thing she's ever heard.

"You want to find that out?"

"I want to find out everything about you." He admits, face growing hot. "I've been fascinated since the dropship."

She laughs a little, squeezes his hand. "Me too. But a little more maturity suits you."

He grins. "You too. Did I ever tell you I love the shorter hair?"

Her eyes narrow sharply in shock and what looks a little like disbelief. "No. You mean it?"

He almost wants to laugh – or maybe cry. She looked less surprised when there was a coup going on around her than she is, now, to learn that her husband likes her hairstyle.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I have nostalgic feelings about the old look." He admits. "But this really suits you. Kind of screams _sexy mother of my child_ , you know?"

She laughs much more loudly, this time, presses her face into his chest to smother her giggles.

She recovers. She pulls back, looks up into his eyes once more. "I have more mixed feelings about the beard. On the one hand, _hot_. But you were clean-shaven before Praimfaya and you've been clean-shaven all the time we've been married. So I guess I think of this look as _my_ Bellamy."

He growls slightly. He doesn't intend to, because _growling_ is a silly reaction to a passing compliment from his wife. But he can't help it. Not only does she think he's hot, she also thinks of him as _hers_? That feels like a little bit of a miracle, after all they've been through.

They spend a good couple of hours guarding Cadogan's cell. They pass the time trading compliments, and kisses, sharing all the thoughts and feelings they have towards each other and have never dared to talk about, before now. Clarke tells him, flushing bright red, that she's always thought he has nice hands. He spends a solid three minutes talking about her eyes.

Behind the door sits a fraud who tried to teach him not to love.

That's why he's so set on enjoying this time with Clarke, really. It seems like the perfect peaceful protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. Just take it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is exactly as you would expect this chapter to be. Please note the explicit rating and all that. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing and happy reading!

Bellamy is exhausted, by the time he arrives back to Sanctum hand-in-hand with Clarke.

At least he gets to hold hands with her now. At least there's that. It's such a simple thing, but after all the challenges he and Clarke have faced to get this far, then the weeks spent hiding the true affection in their marriage, it's a relief to be able to walk like this with her in public.

Madi is waiting for them at the stone. Of course she is – he expected that, and more or less expected Murphy and Emori to be waiting with her as they are. But he's a little surprised to see that there is a substantial crowd – everyone from Indra and Gaia to Echo and Hope. Raven and Gabriel are there, too, having evidently chosen to hang around when they came home ahead of Bellamy and Clarke who had to stay behind to handle political matters.

Madi runs in for the first hug, eager and evidently relieved. But before long Octavia and Echo are piling in as well, and after that it turns into a bit of a free-for-all, everyone scrambling to offer their good wishes and embraces.

It's almost overwhelming, really. This is more fuss than Bellamy has faced in quite some months now. He's rather surprised to find out this many people care that he made it back in one piece after a successful mission.

Maybe they're all here for Clarke?

No. He needs to learn to give himself more credit than that. He has friends too, and it's time to start believing it.

"It's good to see you all, but I think we want to head home." Clarke says to the crowd at large, when the hugs are slowing to a stop.

He sighs in relief. He's pleased she was the one who said it. He feels the same way, but he's not quite ready to risk accidentally insulting or upsetting his friends and family.

"I get that. Take care and get some rest. You deserve it." Octavia says, pulling him in for yet another hug.

Wow. Seems like his little sister really has grown up.

"You want us to babysit Madi for the evening so you get some time to yourselves?" Murphy asks, carefully casual.

Bellamy snorts slightly. "No thanks, Murphy. We're looking forward to some family time, right?" Madi and Clarke both nod, so he presses on. "Maybe we can hang out soon when the dust has settled." He offers, because he knows what that was really about. It's partly Murphy trying to learn how to be helpful, but largely him wanting to babysit the child who has really warmed to him since Clarke left her in their care while she went to Bardo.

Murphy nods. Bellamy nods back at him. There's a short silence, filled with nothing but smiles and nodding.

Then Echo moves, starts shepherding Hope and Octavia out of the way. That's the cue to everyone else to disperse, it seems, and before long Bellamy, Clarke and Madi are heading home too.

They don't spend long on their family time – tonight they are all so exhausted that quality, not quantity, must be the priority. They eat a simple meal together, then spend a few minutes sitting on the couch and talking over anything that is on their minds. Madi wants to share that she did have a few problems sleeping on Bardo, but that she's feeling OK now.

Bellamy feels awful. He didn't realise that. Should he have got her out of there sooner? _Could_ he have got her out of there sooner?

He tries to brush that thought aside. Regrets won't help anyone. All he can do is be here for her, now.

Madi is the first to suggest that it's bedtime. Bellamy is fairly sure that's only because he and Clarke are waiting for her to be the one to suggest it. He knows he, for one, is exhausted – but not too exhausted to take care of his family.

He and Clarke both go to see Madi safely to bed, tonight. They both tell her a brief snatch of bedtime story, both stand at the door until she's sound asleep.

And to Bellamy's surprise, it's Clarke who turns away first.

"Come on. She's safe. We don't need to stand here all night." She says, making a visible attempt at brisk decisiveness. It's _almost_ there, he thinks. It's almost her dropship camp voice.

"Yeah. Let's get some sleep."

That's what he _says_ , but it's not quite what he's thinking. This will be the first time he and Clarke have shared a bed since they confessed their feelings to each other – the first, even, since they started kissing, although that's now a long week ago for him. So he can't help but wonder whether there's more to be done in bed tonight than only _sleep_.

He's not sure what he wants the answer to be. He loves Clarke with all his heart and all his soul, and has an enormous crush on her, too. He looks at her and feels like a teenager in the heat of a first relationship all over again. So he's certainly attracted to her, definitely wants to make love with her on a deep and almost primal level.

But he's scared, too. Scared he won't be good enough, that he'll disappoint her after all these years of waiting. Scared that he'll freak out half way through and have another horrific episode like he did in the kitchen the other week. Scared most of all that he won't be able to help her through the trauma she's still working with, thanks to Cillian and the ordeal with Josephine that followed. He knows that sex is one of the things that touches rather close to her anxiety.

Of course, Clarke is Clarke – and more truly herself than he's seen her in quite some time. She's learnt how to be pragmatic and decisive again, how to reclaim her old confidence. So when they walk into their bedroom, she simply turns to him with an arched brow and asks the question.

"Do you want to try sex? Or are we going straight to sleep and leaving that for another day?"

He tries to match her no nonsense attitude. "I don't mind. I mean – I want to try it, of course I do. But I understand if you think now isn't the time."

She nods. "The sensible thing to do is probably to get some sleep and try it tomorrow."

His heart sinks. That's the moment he realises just how desperately he wants to start learning how to make love with Clarke _now_. He's so disappointed to hear her say they ought to wait, even though he himself was feeling torn just a few short minutes ago.

"OK. Sure." He says carefully.

"But... I'm not sure I want to be sensible right now." She murmurs, throwing him a nervous little smile.

He reaches for her with his hands, leans in to kiss her with lips puckered, all at once. He's not going to make her ask twice. In fact, he thinks it might help her if he shows her just how much he wants this. That will help her feel precious and safe and secure, right?

Clarke laughs into his mouth, pulls back from the kiss to look him right in the eye. "So we're doing this?"

"We're _trying_ it." He corrects her softly. "It's fine if it doesn't go great the first time. We've both got a lot of baggage that might get in the way."

"Jackson would be proud of you." She says, smiling softly.

"Jackson's great and all, but I'm really not thinking about him right now." Bellamy teases. "Come on, let's try it. Or let's just try making out and see where it goes. We can stop any time either of us wants to."

She nods. "OK. Shall we talk about... what we might need from each other?" She asks. "You know, what we're worried about? What will make us feel comfortable?"

"Yeah. Good idea." He clears his throat a little. "I think it's pretty simple for me. I'm more worried about letting you down than anything. And I know it's stupid but I'm worried I might have forgotten how to do it while I was on Etherea. I – uh – I didn't have much of a sex drive when I first got back." He knows that's not anything to worry about, because he's spoken to Jackson about it. And yet he is worried all the same, because worrying about letting Clarke down is a talent of his.

Clarke smiles, leans up to kiss him softly. "That's OK. We'll figure it out. For me this is about _you_ , Bellamy, my husband. It's not about whether you can remember all those skills the girls at the dropship used to gossip about."

That has him laughing. He knows that was probably her intention, and he's grateful for it. She's always had a way of lightening his mood.

"What about you?" He prompts her.

"I guess I'll need to take it slow." She frowns. "I'm going to need lots of reminders that this is _you_ and that I'm safe."

"Sure. We can work with that." He says easily.

There's a short pause. Clarke is smiling slightly, looking up at him, still encircled by his embrace.

He steps back and starts taking his robe off. He figures that's a good way to set the mood.

"I hope I never have to put this thing on again." He jokes, as he tosses it over the back of a chair.

She gives him a tentative smile for that. "I don't know. It's growing on me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Since I saw you wearing it today while you were striding around Bardo saving the human race. Kind of hot." She offers with a shrug.

He laughs. "Thanks I guess."

"Any time. It's good to have some happier memories of it now as well."

He nods. "You're right. But it's still ridiculous. Might go ask Miller if he can get me a guard jacket tomorrow."

"Sounds good."

Another brief silence. Bellamy can hear his heart roaring in his ears, and can feel the blood rushing to his groin, too. He's barely even touched Clarke, as yet, and he's only taken one layer off. But his cock is still growing interested at the sheer thought of what's about to happen here.

Well, at least there's nothing wrong with his sex drive, these days.

It's Clarke who makes the next move. She shrugs out of her jacket, tosses it on the chair over his robe. She starts work on unlacing her boots, too, so he takes her hint and matches her. He doesn't usually find unlacing his own shoes a very sexual experience, but right now, it has his pulse rising and he's rushing to finish the task.

He thinks he might know what happens next, once he gets these damn laces untied.

He's right. The minute he's got his shoes off and has stood to face her once more, Clarke is closing the distance between them and pulling him in for an urgent kiss.

"I thought we were taking it slow." He reminds her, whispering against her lips.

She giggles a little. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's OK. It's fine." He soothes. "Just – you set the pace." That's a better plan, he thinks. She doesn't seem to want to go slow, she just needs to know she _can_ go slow if she hits a rough patch.

She nods, gets back to kissing him in earnest. She's touching him, too, eager hands exploring over his T shirt and roaming as far as the back of his neck. She pauses there for a moment, tugs on some of the soft curls there even as she keeps kissing him.

It's _incredible_. It's only a little thing, but it makes him feel sexy and _wanted_ in a way that is totally new to him.

He tries to respond in kind. He's had his hands politely on her waist, until now. But he decides it's time to try tugging at her hips slightly. He wants them pressed up against each other, wants her to feel how much she's got him turned on, here.

"This OK?" He checks, breaking away from her lips to trail kisses down behind her ear and onto her neck.

"Perfect. You ready to take some more clothes off?"

He nods, but he's trying to keep kissing her, too, and things get messy. Never mind. They have survived worse threats to their relationship, before now, than a messy kiss or two.

He thinks Clarke's question is a hint to undress himself. But before he can get his hands to the hem of his T shirt, she's already there, tugging it up over his stomach, trailing her fingers over his abs as she goes. It feels so good to have her caressing him like this – it reminds him of that night she held him close and they discussed staying married, only a thousand times better.

"Can I get you undressed?" He asks, trying very hard not to sound too eager. She's setting the pace, after all. He just wants to check he hasn't misunderstood what she meant by starting to strip him.

She nods, keeps kissing him, keeps tugging at his clothes.

He starts with her shirt. He's in love with Clarke for her personality most of all, of course – the way she's so fierce but compassionate, all at once. And he thinks she has a beautiful face, especially when she's smiling. But he's only human. He's noticed that she has a stunning figure, that her breasts are downright impressive. And he's been waiting centuries to get his hands on them so it's hard to hold back now.

He forces himself to take things slow, though, and keep observing Clarke's reaction. He takes a few moments to stroke her breasts softly over the top of her bra, then dares to cup them in his hands and squeeze slightly.

"Just take it off." She says, laughing a little. "I know I said slow. But I think it's more like – I need to be able to hit the brakes if I have to."

"Sure. Just tell me how you're doing." He says, even as he starts unhooking her bra.

He feels a bit like a kid on a birthday, when he's got it undone. Or at least, the way he imagines other kids felt on their birthdays. His birthday was never really much of an occasion, growing up. But this is how he imagines it feels, to unwrap a precious gift – and then to gloat over it slightly.

Her breasts fall into his hands, hot and heavy, spilling over his palms. That's impressive, he thinks, when he considers how big his hands are by comparison with the rest of her, the way he can engulf her hand with his fingers. He makes no attempt to flick at her nipples, to squeeze or to tug or to _play_. He simply wants to hold her breasts, cradle them, and adjust to the fact that this is real.

"You good?" She asks pertly, pulling back from the kiss.

"Never better." He teases.

She laughs, shakes her head, gets back to kissing him. She gets the rest of his clothes off, too, eager but unhurried. He takes her hint and strips her naked in turn, much though he hates to leave her breasts unattended, even for a moment.

She walks them over towards the bed, firm and confident. Bellamy's delighted about that – not just because they're heading for the bed, but also because it's good to see Clarke backing herself and calling the shots so instinctively. It's a contrast from the broken woman he first married, he thinks, and it does his heart good to see it.

As they sprawl over the bed, still kissing, touches growing more purposeful, Bellamy finds himself considering something. If Clarke's a bit nervous, if she's worried about pacing, might it help her out if he goes down on her for a while? That would get her wet and ready, he figures, and she'd just be able to lie there and relax and enjoy the ride. That could be a good idea, he decides – just as long as he gets it right and doesn't let her down.

So it is that he pulls back from the kiss and suggests it.

"You want me to go down on you?" He offers brightly.

To his disappointment, she shakes her head at once. "No. Thanks."

"You sure? Might help you relax and feel ready." He explains himself.

"It's a good idea. But – uh – I need you up here. I need to be holding you and kissing you."

"OK. Sure. I can stay here. Whatever you need."

They get back to kissing, to hands exploring, to holding each other close. Bellamy finds himself feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he thinks this is wonderful and he can imagine doing it forever. On the other hand, it's getting a bit tricky to ignore his hard and rather curious cock nudging into Clarke's thighs.

He's kissing a path along her collarbone when she suggests it.

"You know what you just said about going down on me?" She asks.

"Hmm?" Has she changed her mind?

"Could you maybe use your hand instead? I think a little warm up would help."

He doesn't make her ask twice. He's there, eager, but trying to remind himself to keep it slow and gentle, too. He starts incredibly simple, just cupping his hand so that his palm is covering her clit and his fingers are teasing her slightly. She likes that, sighing a little, pressing up into his hand, kissing him harder. It feels like a big success, in this moment – the first real sign that he's doing OK at bringing her pleasure.

Slowly, carefully, he takes things further. He eases a finger inside of her, finds that she's still pretty tight.

"That OK?" He asks.

"Yeah. I'm good."

He thinks she's telling him the truth, there. It's difficult to tell, sometimes, whether Clarke is actually fine or just thinks she's supposed to say she's fine. But he likes to think she's more honest with him than she is with most people, and that she really would say if she needed to put the brakes on now.

He gets confirmation of that when she reaches out to grab hold of his cock.

There's something very _Clarke_ about it, he thinks in between groans. The way she's just gone for it, got stuck in despite her anxiety. She's stroking the length of him slowly but firmly, kissing him deeply all the while, and it feels so good he's almost worried he might burst right there in her hand.

She's enjoying it, too. She's feeding off his arousal, now, as she relaxes a little and he feels her start to open up to him more. He adds a second finger, starts teasing her more purposefully.

"That's good." She tells him simply.

Yeah. He'd agree with that. He thinks it's absolutely _incredible_ , actually, given they were weeping and arguing just a couple of short months ago.

He decides Clarke might need to hear some of that, too.

"I think we're doing great." He tells her firmly. "Look how far we've come."

She smiles at him, gives his cock an odd little affectionate squeeze that he enjoys far more than he expected to.

"You're right. I love you." She reminds him.

"I love you too."

Another playful squeeze of his cock. It's not that it feels great, really. It's just that he loves everything it says about the atmosphere and their relationship – the way it's so easy and teasing, despite all they have been through.

He's not surprised when Clarke starts demanding more. She seems to be pleasantly surprised by her own confidence, tonight, but he's not surprised in the slightest. He really believes in her, and sometimes that means believing in her even when she's not sure whether she believes in herself.

"Can I get this inside me now?" She says, with another little tug at his cock.

"Sure. Only, what, a hundred and thirty or more years overdue?" He teases. "How do you want to do this?"

"Can we just try you on top of me? That's simple and I'll be able to hold you." She suggests.

He doesn't answer that in words. He answers that with another sound kiss, and by rearranging things slightly. He draws his fingers away, gets himself in position above Clarke, pausing on his elbows to look down into her face. He's doing OK here, he tells himself. He doesn't seem to have got anything wrong so far, and Clarke's looking at him like she feels safe and happy and calm with him – or perhaps not entirely calm, but agitated in the _good_ kind of way. Like she feels aroused rather than anxious.

"I've got you." He says simply, smiling down at her.

She nods. Just that – a simple nod, urgent and excited.

It's all a lot easier than he expected. He slips in without any trouble at all, Clarke smiling up at him all the while. Clearly that time they spent getting each other ready has paid off – and to be honest, it was a lot of fun in its own right. He starts moving, rocking his hips briskly but without too much force behind them.

Clarke objects to that. She objects, and she doesn't mind telling him.

"You can go harder than that. I'm not going to break. I'm feeling really good."

"I'm proud of you." He admits. Maybe that sounds silly, in the middle of sex, even as he's starting to thrust a little faster. But he _is_ proud of her, because he knows that she had to work through a lot of trauma to get this far.

She smiles sheepishly, flushing slightly. "You too. I should probably tell you that more often."

He tucks that behind his ear for later. Clarke is proud of him. She is _often_ proud of him – that's what she seemed to be implying, there. That's the kind of thing he never gets tired of hearing, since Etherea and everything that came with it and shredded his sense of self.

He's having a really great time, here. It feels so natural, so hot and raw and good, that he's struggling to cling onto his priorities. He knows he needs to focus on taking care of Clarke – in general, but especially this first time when she's still reeling from Cillian and Josephine.

But it's honestly pretty tricky to remember that when he's losing his mind.

He's losing his mind in a _good_ way, though. The best. The polar opposite of the way he lost his mind on that horrific planet. He's losing his mind over how good Clarke feels around his cock, on the way she's skimming her hands over his back as if she can't believe he's real, on the way she's kissing him like he's more essential to her than breathing.

"How are you doing?" He forces himself to ask her, rather than letting his pleasure run away with him.

"Fine. Yeah."

He considers that for a moment – or considers it as best he can when his blood is rushing to his cock, not his brain. He's pretty sure there's something she's not telling him, there.

"Clarke?"

"It's really good." She tells him, almost defensively. "It feels great. And I'm really getting off on how much you're enjoying it. But – I – I'm not feeling like I'm going to come." She babbles, flustered and apologetic.

"OK." He says simply, slowing for a moment to look her right in the eyes. She needs to see how totally unconcerned he is. He'd like for her to have a good orgasm, sure, but it's not the end of the world, is it? And they've both survived the end of the world – and still found themselves here – so he thinks a little perspective is in order.

"OK?" She asks, frowning.

"Yeah. We can stop if you think tonight's not the night for you. Or we can try a different position or whatever if you think you might get more out of something else."

"I don't want to stop." She says at once. "I'm enjoying it even if it's not going places for me."

"Do you want to change it up?" He suggests instead.

"No. Honestly, I am enjoying it. I just don't want you to take it personally if I don't come." She mutters, voice beginning to shake.

He presses a soft kiss to her lips. "It's fine. It's _more than fine_. I love you, and whether either of us comes tonight is not going to change that." He tells her firmly. He seems to remember he was worried about letting her down, when they started out tonight. But he finds that he is worried about letting her down more in terms of failing to support her than whether this is going to be the best sex of her life.

"Thanks." She says, with a cautious smile. "I guess I just feel a little tense."

"I'd say _a little tense_ is not bad when you were having nightmares about this only last month." He says pointedly.

Her smile is broader, now, and more genuine. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It worked, didn't it?" He knows that she's like that – she always feels better when he points out the many ways a situation could be worse. She's perverse, but he loves her.

"It did." She admits, giggling slightly. "Can we stop chatting and keep fucking now?" She prompts him, nudging at his butt with the heels of her hands.

He grins. "Maybe. You sure you want to? We really can stop if you're not enjoying it."

"I'd be enjoying it more if you would _get going_." She bites out, teasing, tugging at his butt as hard as she can.

He laughs and takes her hint, accepts that she really does want to keep doing this. Even at her most anxious, Clarke would tell him if he was doing the wrong thing, he's pretty sure. Isn't that what she did, in the early days of their marriage? Held him to account for his actions, even while she tried to show him understanding?

It feels even better, now. He can't quite put his finger on why. Maybe that chat cleared the air and helped them both relax. Maybe the pause racked up the tension, too. But whatever the reason, he's feeling pretty close to the edge, now. He's struggling for breath and his hips are moving almost of their own accord.

"I'm close." He pants out. It seems only fair to warn her.

"Me too. I think." She gasps.

He grins, buries his smile in her hair. Maybe that conversation really did help. He keeps his face pressed close to her neck and speaks in muffled whispers.

"You're OK. It's fine, either way." He pants, snatching at the words as best he can. "You're OK. I've got you."

She nods, rubs her cheek against his hair. "Talk to me." She begs.

He tries. He really does. But he's totally losing it himself, now, and he can feel Clarke's legs starting to tremble, and it's all a bit much for him.

"Got you, Clarke. You're good. I'm right here. Love you. Love you so much. I've got you."

She does come, then, and he gets the impression they're both taken by surprise. It's not a big orgasm, but he can still feel her fluttering slightly around his cock. And that tips him over the edge, has him pressing his face into the side of her neck and moaning loudly as he comes.

It's a bit clammy here, for the record. That's what he notices as he comes down the other side. They're both a little sticky from all this screwing. He can't decide whether he finds it unpleasant and uncomfortable, or rather incredibly hot.

"Thanks." She says simply, breathlessly – perhaps even _deliriously_.

"Thanks yourself."

He can't stop smiling, as he pulls out and rolls off of her. He ends up leaning on an elbow at her side, looking down to meet her eyes.

She has more to say. "I mean it. Thanks for everything you said and for helping me out there. I think – it was like everything felt better once you'd given me permission to fail, you know?"

"I don't think it would have been a _failure_ if you hadn't come." He says mildly. "We'd still have had fun and got to know each other in bed. But I get what you mean."

She smiles softly, reaches up to stroke his cheek with a gentle finger. "Still can't believe this is real." She says, carefully light.

"Me neither. But we have the rest of our lives to get used to it." He reminds her.

"I like the sound of that."

…...

Clarke wakes up the next morning wishing, for the first time in ages, that she could just laze around in bed all day.

That's progress of a kind, she thinks. Of course, it's a shame she's decided a duvet day could be fun and chilled just when she has so many things to do. But sooner or later, just as soon as she's managed all her tasks and the new peace deal with Bardo has been secured, she plans to spend some time lying in.

She has to admit, a morning lie-in sounds awfully appealing now she's discovered the joys of making love with her husband. She doesn't think she'll ever be a woman inclined to sit still and do absolutely nothing, but doing something so pleasurable and relaxing does sound like a good compromise.

"You're thinking too loud." Bellamy warns her, cracking one eye open.

"I was thinking it would be good to lie in and have morning sex some time. It could be a nice idea. Relaxing." She tells him honestly.

He snorts. "So you're thinking too hard about how to chill out? Standard Clarke."

"I was thinking too hard about your cock more than anything." She says with a shrug. "It's a beautiful cock."

He groans, now. Hah. He deserves that for teasing her. "Come on, Clarke. You can't say a thing like that and then leave me hanging."

"I can." She jokes, making a great show of getting out of bed.

He shakes his head, somewhere between laughter and comedic groaning, all at once. She's enjoying this more than she's ever enjoyed a morning in her life, she's pretty sure – and that's saying something, because waking up by Bellamy's side has brought her a lot of joy in recent weeks. But today is simply _glorious_. They're both laughing, both apparently unable to keep their eyes off each other.

She relents, just a little. She reaches back over the bed to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Come on. We really do have a lot to do today." She reminds him.

He nods, sitting up in bed, still shamelessly staring at her. "You want to divide up some of the jobs between us so we have some chance of getting some free time this evening?"

She frowns. "It's a good idea. But I kind of want to spend the whole day with you, even if that means things get done slower."

"We can do that instead if you want."

She considers it for a moment, arranges the to-do list in her head.

"How about a compromise?" She suggests. "We both take Madi to school together. You go see Miller about a guard jacket and a role for you while I go report to Indra about everything that happened yesterday. Then we meet up again and go together to Raven to ask about your wedding ring, and to meet Doucette back here in the afternoon."

"So in this plan it's more important to have both of us there for my wedding ring than both of us there to report to Indra?" He points out, tone teasing.

She grins. "Are you going to argue with that?" She prompts him.

"No. You're right. You know exactly what happened yesterday, and this is a very important ring." He concludes, laughing at the conversation, but with a solemn look in his eyes that tell her he's utterly serious about the importance of the ring – and by extension, their marriage.

Clarke grins, reaches in for one last kiss, and then forces herself to get ready to face the day.

…...

Clarke is feeling pretty good by the time the afternoon rolls around, and it's time to meet with Doucette. It's been a productive day. Indra now knows everything, Bellamy will have a wedding ring before long, and he's already wearing his new black jacket.

There's more than that going on, too. He also won't shut up about how excited he is to train with Miller tomorrow, how he might go on a scouting mission next week if he passes his physical. Clarke hasn't heard him so excited in _months_. Or rather, it's the first time she's seen him this excited about anything other than her, and she thinks that's good. It's healthy that he should have good things in his life outside of their relationship.

That's a thought that makes her wonder whether she ought to ask Jackson if he needs a spare pair of hands around the medical centre, actually.

She's looking forward to sitting and drinking tea with Doucette. This meeting will combine business and pleasure, she hopes. Even if Doucette is more strictly Bellamy's friend than hers, he's still a cheerful guy she'd like to get to know better.

The doorbell rings. She goes with Bellamy to answer it. He opens it, leaving her first in Doucette's path as he steps forward for a forceful hug.

Yes. He does seem like quite a _keen_ sort of a guy.

He hugs Bellamy in turn, then pulls back to smile at them both.

"How are you? You look well." He offers warmly.

"You, too." Bellamy bounces back easily.

"We're happy to be home." Clarke answers the original question.

Things flow pretty smoothly from there, really. Clarke takes Doucette to sit in the living room, while Bellamy goes to fetch tea and snacks. Within minutes they are all sitting down and chatting – Clarke and Bellamy sitting closely alongside each other on the couch, while Doucette is on a nearby chair.

The conversation is light enough, to begin with. They ask after the health of all their mutual acquaintances, and Doucette gives them a report on what has happened in Bardo since they left. It's been a long couple of weeks for them, and Cadogan's trial is well underway.

But then things grow more serious.

"I wanted to ask how you guys see the – ah – _relationship_ between Bardo and Sanctum developing from here. We talked about perhaps moving the Disciples to a new compound here. I need to know more about the terms of that. Are you suggesting that Bardo becomes a sort of province of Sanctum? That you and Indra would rule over it, Clarke?"

"No." She says at once, abrupt and instinctive. "Definitely not. I'm tired of being in charge."

"Sorry. I didn't mean -"

"It's OK." She interrupts him, tone a little calmer. "I understand why you would ask. But I don't want some kind of _empire of Clarke_. I'm sick and tired of being the commander of death. I want to be a doctor and a councillor like my mother, I think. But I also want to be a private citizen who does what's right and watches soccer on weekends like my dad. And I know Indra feels the same. She is a military commander – that's her career and I guess her calling. But she's tired of the politics. She wants to take a step back and bring some other people onto a council to help us so we can both spend more time with our families and our other vocations."

"So what are you suggesting?" Doucette asks carefully.

"That some of the Disciples join our council. And beyond that, you rule yourselves however you want. Maybe in time the two groups will come together closely enough that we will just share the council and that will be enough."

He nods. "And you'll be on this council as well, Bellamy?"

Bellamy shrugs. "I don't know. I think I need longer to recover from Etherea before I make a decision like that."

Doucette nods again. "I understand. But you aren't expecting any sort of tribute or fealty from Bardo?"

Clarke shakes her head. "No. We're done with sheep and Shepherds and rank. You're welcome to Sanctum, as long as you come in friendship."

"We can do that." Doucette says at once. " _I_ can do that. I've learnt a lot about friendship, since Bellamy held me at knifepoint."

"That's how all the best friendships start." Bellamy says lightly. "I must have told you some of the stories about me and Clarke in the early days?"

Needless to say, the conversation becomes rather lighter again, now. Doucette is still somewhat fascinated by how exactly love works, and Clarke begins to wonder whether there is anyone back on Bardo who has sparked his curiosity in particular. That would be nice for him, she thinks. She'd quite like for all of her new friends on Bardo to get a taste of a relationship like the one she has with Bellamy – partly out of genuine altruism, but largely because she thinks they would be more inclined to work for peace, if they had a family life worth preserving.

Doucette doesn't stay all day. He leaves, after a couple of hours, with another round of hugs and promises to visit soon. Meanwhile the engineers will start on a new compound here in Sanctum right away, so that the Disciples will have a home to move to. It might take years in their time to get it built, but in the grand scheme of things, Doucette figures his people will be willing to wait, if that's the price they must pay for a happy life above ground.

When he's gone, Clarke wonders what to do. She finds that she is standing uselessly in the hallway of her own home, trying not to stare too hard at her husband's lips. He does have really lovely lips, in her defence – or maybe she just very much likes kissing him.

"What's on your mind?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke considers that for a moment. There _is_ something on her mind, but she's not sure whether to mention it. She's not sure whether this is the time or the place, whether darting from politics and tea to arousal is quite the right thing to do.

To hell with it. It's worth a try.

"I'm just thinking – it's still a couple of hours until Madi will be done with school and soccer."

"Yeah. We don't have anything else urgent to do, right? You want to hang out?"

She nods. This is a promising start. "Yeah. I was wondering... how is our sex life going to work? Are we going to start fucking on the couch every minute we're home alone or, I don't know, make plans to do the deed once a week?"

He laughs, pulls her in for a quick, firm kiss. "Somewhere between the two?" He suggests. "More like the first option? I'm trying not to push you but – uh – I'd probably be good for a couple of times a day, if you're up for that?"

She splutters with some combination of shock and laughter, tries to turn it into a cough. "Maybe not a couple of times _every_ day?" She suggests.

He looks immediately chastened. "Right. Yeah. Whenever, really. We can just talk about it, right? Just ask and be honest with each other."

She nods. She most certainly can do that.

"OK then. You want to head to the bedroom now?" She asks him, plain and simple.

"Thank God. I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
